Touch & Tell Lullaby
by Gilded Muse
Summary: Roger tries to chase away Mark's nightmares, but he can't seem to get past the nightmare he's living in. As his life falls apart, Roger leans on Mark, but Mark wants more than that. MarkRoger. COMPLETE.
1. Are You Sleeping?

**Author:** Stephanie (gildedmuse)  
** Series:** Touch & Tell Lullabye  
** Rating/Warning:** Currantly? Low PG-13. SLASH. Rating will go up in later chapters, with a warning at the begining of said chapters.  
** Summary:** Mark has trouble sleeping at night, but Roger can help him out. (Roger/Mark)

**Touch and Tell Lullaby  
****Chapter I: Are You Sleeping?****  
**

"So this is it."

Roger puts his guitar in the corner. He's more interested in making sure it's not in danger of getting scratched up then he is his new roommate.

Temporary new roommate, he reminds himself. He would just have to share a room until him or Collins or Benny managed to make some money. Then they could pay rent without help, or maybe move somewhere they wouldn't have to share with suspiciously large mice. That is the goal, because in the end everyone in the loft is just a temporary roommate that somehow got himself stuck there.

Roger hears shuffling at the doorway. The blond is still standing outside the room. He is shifting from foot to foot, too nervous to follow Roger inside the bedroom. It's possible this has something to do with the way Roger has made no attempt at hide his aggravation at being forced to share, or it could simply be the way that Roger's house cleaning skills had their own way of making people tremble. Either way, Roger found himself more annoyed with this new guy then he had been before. He growls and reminds himself to hate Collins tomorrow even more than he had originally planned.

Mark says, "It's err..."

Roger motions to something on the floor that might have been a mattress in a past life. "You sleep there."

"Oh," Mark face contorts slightly. The idea of sleeping so close to the ground - or what is probably the ground under stacks of Roger's clothes and magazines and junk - obviously didn't help his nerves. Roger can't help but snicker when a roach chooses that moment to scuttle across Mark's bed. "All right then."

"Yeah." Roger sits on his bed and pulls his guitar up with him. He tries to be as aloof as possible. He wants Mark to know that this roommate thing is not his idea. "And don't make too much noise. You don't snore, do you?"

Mark shakes his head. "No," he says, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. "No. I... I don't think I do."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

That night Roger is woken up by what sounds like a beating.

A one sided beating in which the assailant makes no noise and the prey is almost ready to give up, but is still kicking and crying around the gag. It reminds Roger of a mugging he saw in a movie once, or possibly just a mugging he passed by on the street. It's too late for him to remember the exact details. It definitely sounds like a mugging, though.

If some asshole is robbing someone in the hallway, couldn't he have the decently to do it when people weren't trying to sleep?

Roger is still half a sleep, but his awake enough that his bladder feels heavy and won't be ignored. He growls, forgetting about the sounds that woke him up and more concerned with his need to piss. He struggles to free himself under the heavy covers, not paying attention to the background noise filtering through his sleep hazed mind or where he's stepping.

"Shit." Roger jerks back onto his bed. He picks up his foot, not surprised to find blood flowing out of a brand new wound. He looks down on the floor to kick whatever he'd managed to stab himself on. A pile of magazines. A broken amp. Mark.

His mind comes to a slow stop.

Mark, the new roommate, doesn't snore. He does kick and whimper and wrestle with his covers though. Roger's mind backtracks to earlier when he'd only been half conscious. It dawns on him that no one is being mugged in his hallway.

Damn.

"Mark." Roger kicks the young man in the side. In his sleep, Mark doubles over. The whimpers and groans turn into small cries. Roger rolls his eyes and kicks again, a little harder this time. "Mark."

"Fuck," is the first thing out of Mark's mouth, followed by, "What the hell?"

Roger is thinking the same thing. "You having nightmares or something?"

Mark half sits up. He's wearing a sleep shirt with a picture of some cartoon on it that Roger doesn't recognize, his hair is going in ten thousand different directions, his cheeks are flushed, and he's rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looks ten years old and like the sort of kid that would have nightmares.

"You didn't wet the bed or anything, did you?" Roger asks.

When Mark narrows his eyes he looks even younger. "No," he spat. He reaches down to pull the blankets up around his body and hugs them around his shoulders. Roger reminds himself to kill Collins in the morning. He roomed him with a baby. "And I wasn't having nightmares."

"Whatever," Roger says, flopping back onto the bed. He could personally care less what Mark was dreaming about so long as he shuts up about it. "Just don't make so much noise when you sleep," He says.

Mark snorts and says, "Fine."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Roger gets use to waking up at odd hours.

Mark, it turns out, isn't nearly as annoying awake as he is asleep. Roger doesn't mind him hanging around the loft, even takes him to a few of the band's gigs and shows Mark around Alphabet city. Mark has a sense of humor and a sense of artistic morals and he's not one of those snobby suburban brats who end up leaving New York in under a month when they figure out what street life is really like. He's got ideas and a camera he carries around with him everywhere. He can go on and on about film and scripts and the trouble with Hollywood for hours, but he can also listen without having to tell his opinion on every little thing. Usually too much of that sort of thing might start getting on Roger's nerves, but on Mark it look good.

By three months Roger gets use to being woken up by Mark's nightmares. He doesn't ask what they're about, just throws a pillow or kicks at Mark and tells him to shut up. Mark either mutters and apology or calls Roger an asshole before both boys go back to sleep.

So when Collins asks what's wrong with Mark, Roger doesn't even know what he's talking about.

Collins gives him that look. That look that Roger sometimes has the urge to take a swing at, and has on occasions. It's that almost smile, like Collins is laughing inside about how oblivious some people can be. Like it's amusing to see people confused.

He says, "Mark? You know, your roommate Mark."

Roger rolls his eyes and says, "Yeah and, like I said. Nothing wrong with him."

"What about all the crying?" Collins asks.

"What crying?" Roger tries to think back over all the time he spends with Mark and comes up empty as far as crying is involved. Lots of smiling and a few of those lost kid looks, but nothing to worry about.

Collins looks like he's concerned about Roger. It's the type of expression he gets when he knows Roger is on edge and is trying to figure out why. Roger just growls and ends up pouting a little. "Look. I hang out with him all the time and I've never seen him cry!" Collins is probably right to worry. Roger's anger is beginning to flare, and Roger is incapable of reason when he's upset. Still, Collins is worry about Mark and presses on.

"Don't tell me you're the one spending all night in tears," Collins says.

Roger finally catches on. "Those are just his nightmares," he explains, glad they'd cleared up the fact that Mark isn't some little crybaby.

Collins raises an eyebrow. "Nightmares?" He asks. "He sounds like he'd getting beaten to death over nightmares? What the hell does that boy dream about?"

Roger shrugs. "No idea. He's always had them, though. I mean, since he moved in."

"And you've never asked him what they're about?" The way Collins says it he makes it sound like Roger's done something wrong.

Roger's temperature jumps a few degrees. "Look, it's not my problem," he says. "If you're so damn curious talk to Mark about it!"

He storms out of the loft and hurries away to get something that will put an end to all these stupid thoughts about Mark and his nightmares.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

When April spends the night everyone at the loft knows it has nothing to do with music. Mark gives Roger a crooked smile, which doesn't do anything to hide the fact that his cheeks are bright red and gathers his blankets before moving to the couch.

So when Roger is woken up at seven in the morning it's not because of Mark. Not at first.

April is pushing against his shoulder, chanting his name. Not the same way she had been doing earlier, though, and therefore Roger isn't really interested. He slaps her hand away and asks, "What?"

"Do you hear that?" April asks.

Roger gets silent and listens for something out of place. "You were dreaming, April. Go back to bed. I've got practice tomorrow and-"

"I am not dreaming," April snaps. "You don't hear that? It sounds like someone is crying."

Roger sighs and goes silent and still for a while. Little whimpers and cries that had become part of Roger's background noise are suddenly brought to the front of his mind. "That's just Mark," he says. "He's having nightmares, that's all. Now go back to sleep."

"Your roommate has nightmares?" April asks. "What is he, ten?" Roger thinks this is a stupid question and doesn't answer. April apparently forgets the question because she doesn't seem to mind his silence and ends up cuddling into Roger's chest.

Roger pushes her away. "It's too hot," he complains. He rolls over, burring his face into his pillow and trying to mute the echoes of whimpers that were barely there and that were all he could here. "Just go back to sleep," he says. "He'll shut up, eventually."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

When Roger wakes up too early in the morning for anything else, he assumes it's because of Mark. Recently, Mark has taken to sleeping in the other bedroom, and Roger hardly feels the need to go over and wake him up anymore, though occasionally he'll crawl out of bed and make sure Mark hasn't managed to hurt himself in his sleep (like that one time he cut his arm up on the loose mattress springs). So when he's woken up this time he stays in bed and tries to drift back to sleep.

Roger is awake for nearly five minutes before he realizes the loft is completely silent.

He rolls away from April's too warm body. Mark's nightmares are one of the few constants in his life, and for the loft not to be filled with kicks and screams isn't normal. The only explanation Roger's sleep hazed mind can manage is that Mark isn't at the apartment.

Roger pulls on a pair of pants and goes to check on the rest of the loft, which has been strongly empty for the last week. Collins is visiting some college in what he hopes will end with a job. Benny is at his girlfriend's place for the night, a girlfriend he refuses to talk about with the rest of them. Roger is so sure that Mark isn't at the loft that he doesn't bother to keep quiet as he crosses the living room or swings up the other bedroom door.

He's surprised to see a lump under Mark's covers.

He's more surprised when he realizes there are two lumps.

The bedroom isn't well lit, just the one lamp in the living room that has to make its way around Roger and filter into the room, but its enough for Roger to make out a head of bushy curls that is certainly not Mark and way more limbs than could belong to a single person.

The girl looks up at Roger and blinks. "Who's there?"

"Who are you?" Roger growls.

He always knew that Mark is a guy and, like other guys, probably had to have sex every now and then. So, sure, if Roger had thought about it he wouldn't have been surprised to find a girl in his friend's bed. But it is strange to see Mark wrapped around some women Roger had never meant and who was definitely not the sort of girl Mark should be sleeping with.

Not that Roger knew Mark's type, but he knew she wouldn't be sitting up in bed, smiling at Roger, and not even bothering to cover herself.

"Maureen," she says. The name sounds familiar enough that Roger is sure he's heard Mark mention her before, maybe one of the actors in his disastrous films or another camera fanatic. Roger never listened too closely when Mark talks about work. "Who are you?"

Roger says, "Is he okay?"

Maureen cocks her head to the side. "Why? You his boyfriend or something?"

Roger's hand tightens around the doorknob hard enough to cramp his knuckles. He decides that him and Mark need to have a chat about this girl in the morning. "No," he spits. He takes a deep breath and tries to relax. "He usually has nightmares. I was just..."

Roger trails off when he realizes he isn't entirely sure what he's doing in Mark's room.

Maureen laughs and says. "He's fine with me." Even with the heavy shadows playing off her face Roger can see her smirk. "I'm like a dream."

Roger slams the door behind him.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Roger can't sleep.

He slept a lot after April's death. It was never a deep, resting sleep, never made him feel any better, but he slept constantly. Like maybe so long as he wasn't ever really awake he didn't have to think about her or drugs or the fact that he was nearly death itself. After April's death it seemed like Roger was always sleeping.

It is different with Mimi. Everything is different with Mimi.

Mimi with her beautiful smile and bright eyes he couldn't get out of his head. Mimi laughing and dancing and making Roger feel so awake. Mimi with her drugs and her cheating and her lying eyes eating away at Roger's heart.

Roger slows his breath. He counts sheep. He tucks himself under all the blankets he can find. He does everything he can think of to make himself sleep and forget about Mimi, but nothing works. It feels to Roger like nothing will ever get this girl out of his head. She has managed to break down every wall he'd put up, and now she is burned into his brain.

Through the walls Roger could hear Mark's own restless sleep. Something is haunting him. Something Roger has never had the guts or time or patience to ask about, just like Mimi's eyes were haunting Roger. Only Mark could still sleep through his nightmares, a restless, loud sleep that woke Roger up at night. He growls, transferring all the anger he feels at Mimi for not letting him get any sleep over to Mark. It feels nice blame something that is right there in the loft with him and not somewhere on the streets with smack.

Roger storms to the other bedroom, pillow in hand as he seriously considers smothering Mark to get a good night's rest.

When he gets to Mark's room thoughts of murder ebb away. Mark is fighting off some invisible monster, and from the looks of it he isn't doing a good job at it. His pillow has been knocked to the floor and his blankets have twisted around his feet so that not even his wild kicking can free him. Roger sighs, putting his own pillow behind Mark's head to make sure he doesn't wind up knocking himself unconscious against the wall. He untangles the blankets from around Mark's feet and sets to work tucking his friend in.

"Fuck." Roger growls when his hands brush against Mark's skin, which is cold enough to send shivers through Roger. For a man so worried about taking care of other it amazes Roger how careless he can be with himself, making sure Roger had a pile of blankets for his bed and leaving himself with one lousy quilt and a pair of boxers.

Roger lays a hand on Mark's forehead, checking for a fever and making sure Mark isn't going to die of the flu in his sleep. It's just as freezing as the rest of him, though, which doesn't make Roger feel any better.

The soft heat against his face calms Mark down, just a bit, and he leans into Roger's hand.

Roger thinks he's never seen Mark look that calm when he slept. Well, expect for when Maureen was there, but Roger is reluctant to count that.

"You owe me," Roger says and crawls under the covers. It's felt like forever that he's done something with Mark that hasn't involved yelling at each other, and even if Mark isn't exactly conscious it feels nice.

He jumps when Mark pressed against him, all chilly and shivering. Roger growls, angry with Mark for having nightmares and letting himself ice over like this. He wraps his arms around the smaller man, dragging both of their bodies into the middle of the bed so that neither would freeze in the night. He expect Mark to fight him, to make Roger the person or thing that he's fighting against in those dark dreams of his, and Roger makes sure he has a tight grip on Mark's arms and prepares himself to get kicked and clawed at.

Mark does no such thing. Roger's touch manages to fight away the nightmares, and almost instantly he finds himself with an arm full of relaxed Mark, sleeping as calmly as a baby. Roger hardly notices the boy nuzzling against his chest. Mark's cold skin chases away the burning heat that clings to Roger, and suddenly he's yawning and his eyelids are too heavy.

For the first time in years, both boys have dream filled sleeps.


	2. All Through The Night

**Touch and Tell Lullaby**  
**Chapter II: All Through the Night  
**

Roger doesn't mean for it to become a habit, but it does.

"It's easier than listening to you whine all night," he tells Mark, even though Mark never really asks. He doesn't seem to mind when Roger crawls in bed with him. As soon as Roger has his arms around the other boy, Mark stops kicking at the sheets and can actually sleep without hurting himself. Roger feels better with a body pressed against his, and after a few minutes of listening to Mark's even breathes he drifts off as well.

There's nothing wrong with it, Roger reasons. He just can't sleep with all the screams and flailing go on across the loft, and it's easier not to think about Mimi when he has something to hold onto. It's a friendship thing, that's all. There is nothing weird or queer about it.

After a while neither boy even thinks about it. Mark waits up for Roger, and Roger doesn't stay up all night so that Mark won't be alone in bed. It's just two best friends being there for each other, and Roger is pretty sure Mark knows that, too. He can't be sure, because neither of them talk about it, just like Roger never talks about Mark's nightmares and Mark never talks about the way Roger will sneak down in the middle of the day to mope in Mimi's apartment. There are just some things not worth talking about.

Mark apparently doesn't think so.

He's already under the covers when Roger gets done trying to sort out the last few chords of Mimi's song. If Roger didn't know better he'd think Mark is a sleep, but there is no kicking or whimper, which is a dead give away.

He pulls off his shirt and slides under the covers. Mark remains completely still with his back towards Roger.

"You okay?" Roger asks. He settles down on the mattress and reaches for Mark, wrapping his arms around his friend's small waist, because that's what they do every night. Mark is supposed to move back into Roger, and then they both fall asleep and not think about what they're doing. This is how it's worked for about a month now, and Roger doesn't see any reason for that to change.

Mark stays completely still when Roger's arms go around him.

He says, "I'm fine," before turning around to look at Roger. Roger lets him go, not sure what's meant to happen at this point. This isn't the pattern they'd worked out.

Mark is biting at his lip. "What are you doing?"

Roger would like to think he has no idea what Mark is talking about. "What do you mean?"

Mark opens his mouth, but cuts himself off with a long sigh. He shakes his head and says, "Never mind."

Roger assumes this is the end of them trying to talk and goes to pull Mark closer to him again.

Mark shrugs him off. "I'm too hot," he says, rolling over to the other side of the bed with his back towards Roger.

It's November and the loft's heating is complete shit. Roger says, "You'll have nightmares." He doesn't mean for it to sound so much like a threat.

When Mark doesn't say anything, Roger gets out of bed and stomps off to his own room. Let Mark kick and scream all night if that is what he wants, Roger figures. It's not like he needs Mark to get to sleep. Roger had just been playing the part of a good friend. Mark is the one who had to go and get girly about the whole thing.

Roger flops down on his bed and waits for the one-sided struggled in the next room to start. Like clock work, Mark gets his nightmares and there is no one there to save him.

Roger doesn't sleep at all that night.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Mimi fits in Roger's arms.

They mostly stay at Mimi's place, and Roger knows this worries Mark. Every time he stops by the loft Mark is there to hover over his shoulder and make sure nothing is wrong. Roger hates it. He tells Mark to piss off a few times, but just like some sort of utterly obsessive dog, Mark stays loyal to his cause. The worse part is that Roger knows why he's doing it, and that makes him hate Mark all the more for his over protective mother routine.

He tries to comfort Mark with words like, "I think Mimi's getting better," and "She's hasn't been using for two weeks now." Hints that Roger is doing fine, that he pulled through this and so would Mimi. Even if not everything he tells Mark is true, it's true enough. He isn't going to loose Mimi again, he promises. Not like he lost April.

That's why it's easier to stay in Mimi's apartment, where he can watch over her like Mark insists on watching over him.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Mimi leaves Roger in the middle of the night.

She doesn't think Roger knows, or maybe she just doesn't care if he notices or not so long as he never brings it up. Roger never does, because if he tries they'll end up in another one of their fights, like the one that sent him to Santa Fe, and he doesn't want that. So he stays silent even when these midnight trips away get longer and longer. He wakes up after Mimi's side of the bed has cooled off and spends the rest of the night tossing and turning until he hears the door creek open and Mimi sneaks back into his arms, smelling of smoke and liquor and dark street corners.

Roger's not an idiot. He knows where Mimi goes at night, but he almost lost her once because of some stupid argument. That keeps him quiet.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

After a month of sleepless nights, Roger feels ready to explode. He's never been the most patient guy, but his temper is starting to get out of control and everything gets under his skin. It doesn't take Mark long to figure out something is wrong.

"What's with you?" Mark asks after Roger goes off on Maureen for - as far as the others can tell - being too upbeat. Maureen had tried to give Roger a speech, something she'd thought was dramatic and would work well with her character no doubt, but Joanne had the sense to drag her girlfriend away before Roger blow up. Not before she told Mark to make sure to call her later and maybe they could meet up for lunch?

This little display had not helped to calm Roger down. If Mark needed to talk to someone, he would talk to Roger and not his ex-girlfriend's latest keeper. As if Mark didn't already have a perfectly suitable best friend.

"Nothing." Roger sits down on the old couch they'd dug up from the dumpsters three years ago that had gone from pinkish-yellow to green-and-brown in their care. The loose springs dig into his back and he nearly rips the couch apart for it. "It's just... How did you ever stand her, Mark?" Mark gives Roger a weary look, trying to figure out what he can do to defuse the situation. Roger doesn't care if his friend thinks he's going crazy. He's spent a month up in bed worrying, and it feels good to be able to yell at something. "I mean, she has to be the most ridiculous girl on the face of the planet. God knows she's wants the part, with all that fake laughing and..." Roger pulls at his hair, hiding his face in his hands and trying to clear out some space in his mind.

"You know how Maureen gets," Mark says after he realizes the yelling has stopped for the time being.

"Yeah. Annoying." Roger gets off the couch and heads towards the kitchen, wanting something to wake him out of this state of insomnia, or maybe just take his mind of it for a while. Mark follows.

"Look, if there is something wrong between you and Mimi-" Mark is cut off when Roger turns on his heels and nearly knocks Mark backwards.

"There's nothing wrong," Roger growls.

Mark puts his hands up in surrender. "I just thought you might want to talk about it," he says, again left to try and calm Roger down before he did something he'd regret. Roger has done nothing but things he's regretted for the past three years. It doesn't seem like now would be a time to stop.

"No," Roger shouts. "You thought you might want to talk about it, Mark. What is it you want? You want to play martyr again, first with me and then with Mimi?" Roger doesn't mean to say the things he does, but they're spilling out of his mouth and he doesn't have a choice. Mimi's got her drugs and doesn't need Roger. Not like Roger needed Mark and it's unfair. Unfair that Mimi doesn't want to change and doesn't want Roger to help her while Roger was forced to change and clung to Mark the entire time. He's Roger. He shouldn't need anyone.

"It's not like that!" Mark says. His face is twisted and hurt. "I... I just thought you might need someone to talk to, that's all."

"Well I don't," Roger spits. "All you want to do is talk, Mark, but that never gets you anywhere. Scripts and narratives didn't help Mimi the first time around and they aren't going to save her now. Why can't you get that through your head? Why can't you just leave it alone? Stop pretending you care. Stop pretending that all this drama is anything but camera feed for you, Mark."

It takes a lot to make Mark shout, but some how Roger always manages to bring it out in him. "If that's what you want, fine!" He yells, pulling on his coat and grabbing his camera hard enough that his fingers look dead white against the black handle. "You say I don't care? If I didn't care you think I would stick around through the smack and the withdraw and all your other problems? If anything I-" Mark trails off, chewing on his lower lip while his words sink in. "If all you wanted to do was leave me and wait for Mimi self destruct why didn't you just stay in Santa Fe?"

Roger leaves wondering what hurt more: Mark's words or Roger's fist in his friend's face.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

That night when Mimi leaves, Roger does too.

He can't stand the idea of waiting up all night in that little apartment filled with trinkets and reminders of her and where she's going. He thinks he'll go crazy if he has to spend one more night up there. Without thinking about earlier and without thinking at all Roger climbs out of bed and stalks back to the loft. He needs to get away.

His room is filthy. It's always filthy, but having been abandoned for nearly two months it looks even worse than usual. It's all scraps of paper with half written chords and dust. It's all empty and cold. Roger can't stand it. He picks up the closest thing he can find, a bottle of beer that's half empty and weeks old, and throws it against the wall.

There is a loud crash as glass and stale beer fly around the room. It feels good.

In less than a minute the room is completely trashed.

Anything that Roger can pick up off the ground gets shredded and shattered against the concrete walls of the apartment. He's not at all picky about what it is: his radio, his magazines, his amps. Anything and everything has to be just as broken as him.

Mark gets there just as Roger is picking up his guitar. "What the hell?" Mark asks, eyes wide and clouded with sleep as he takes in Roger's room. When it registers what is going on he lunges for Roger, wrapping his hands around the guitar right as Roger tries to swing it against the wall.

"Roger," Mark grunts when Roger pulls at the Fender, growling and demanding that Mark let go. Mark doesn't. "Roger, stop it!"

"Fuck you!" Roger drops the guitar, backing far enough away that there is space between Mark and the wall. He kicks at his bed, hard enough that the room echos with the sound of his bones crunching. If he can't tear up his room he wants to tear up himself.

Mark is careful to put the guitar in a corner far away from Roger's violent actions and hidden in the shadows. He keeps it safe like he keeps Roger safe. "Rog..." He starts, but isn't sure what to say. Talking things out had never been a part of their friendship. Yelling and punching and ignoring, this he could do, but talking it out was so much harder and Roger would never have listened to him even if Mark could find the words.

Mark slides his arms around Roger's back and lowers him into bed. Roger refuses to meet his eyes, staring at Mark's sleep shirt while he's tucked in. It's the one with that stupid cartoon figure on the front and has enough holes in it that it can't be any warmer than sleeping shirtless. Without thinking Roger lifts a hand to one of the large holes right bellow the collar.

Mark moves a little closer. Close enough that Roger's hand is trapped between their bodies and the two of them are nearly snuggling. It reminds Roger of when him and Mimi sleep together, before she gets up to leave him. It doesn't feel weird that him and Mark would sleep like this.

Mark says, "I have nightmares when you're not here."

Roger snorts. "You always have nightmares."

"Not always." Mark wiggles around until his face is pressed against Roger's chest and Roger can move his arms from between them and wrap them around Mark's waist. This doesn't feel weird, either. It feels comfortable and warm, and it doesn't take long for Roger's body to remind him how he hasn't been sleeping, how exhausted he is, and how Mark isn't going to leave him in the night.

The thought barely flickers in the background of Roger's mind before he's drifting to sleep.

He doesn't wake up until mid-afternoon the next day, and Mark is still cuddled against him.


	3. Gone Is The Day

**Touch and Tell Lullaby****  
Chapter III: Gone is the Day  
**

"He's cute."

Roger is strumming away on his guitar. He has a tune in his head that he can't work out through his fingers. Somewhere in the background of his mind he can hear Mimi talking. Trying to play the part of a decent boyfriend he says, "Huh?"

"Mark," Mimi replies, painting her fingernails to match the New York evening sun. Not that bright, burning yellow, but the orangey-red the sky takes on right before it sets. The color of light burning through a haze of smug and pollution. "He's cute."

Roger's fingers miss the next set of strings. An angry sound bounces off the walls. Mimi leans against his shoulder. "Like a puppy or a younger brother," Mimi continues. She doesn't seem to notice that Roger has stopped playing. "He needs someone, you know. He seems like he needs someone. Someone to take care of him."

"We're here," Roger answers. "He has us and Collins and Maureen and Joanne." Roger doesn't mean for Joanne's name to come out sounding so cruel. Mark did seem to need Joanne. He'd gone out to lunch with her enough recently. "We take care of each other."

Mimi dips the brush back in the paint and starts with her toenails. She gives a low, sultry laugh. "It seems weird that he doesn't date," Mimi says. "He hasn't seen anyone since Maureen, has he?"

"Mark doesn't need a girlfriend. He's in love in love with his camera." Roger hasn't really thought about his friend's dating habits, but it isn't odd that Mark doesn't see many girls. Mark doesn't have enough time for valentines and dinners. He has his film to make and Roger to watch after.

"There are some girls down at the restaurant," Mimi says. "Some of them are really nice. Some of them are just the sort of girls that Mark would like."

"How would you know?" Roger's temper flares. He snaps, throwing his guitar onto the mattress and shrugging Mimi off him. He doesn't want to touch her right now. He doesn't want to be having this conversation. "How would you know the type of girl Mark would like?"

Roger has never seen the restaurant Mimi works at now, but he remembers the club. He remembers the girls with their bruised faces and the marks up their arms. He can't help but imagine one of them with her hands and lips all over Mark. Roger knows that Mimi is trying to change, that the girls at the restaurants aren't the same as the ones in the leather pants and handcuffs. Still, Roger doesn't want any of Mimi's so called friends around Mark.

Mark is better than that. Mark doesn't deserve any of the shit girls like Mimi put men through. Roger has already done that to him once before.

"Besides," Roger sighs. He leans his forehead against the wall. The cold cement feels go against is too hot skin. "Would you want to date again after a mistake like Maureen?"

Mimi stands up, three toenails painted and clothes only half buttoned. "I'm going out," she announces, picking up her purse and refusing to look Roger in the eyes.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Where does Mimi go?"

"What do you mean?" Roger knows what Mark means, but its better this way. Better if Roger pretends he has no idea where Mimi goes late at night. What she does when Roger's not there to stop her. It's better if Roger pretends his life isn't falling apart again.

Mark doesn't care what Roger wants to pretend isn't happening. He cares about Roger. "You always spend the night up here. Is it because Mimi leaves?"

It's easier to sleep next to Mark. Track free arms wrapped around his waist and a still body pressed against his. No wiggling free of the blankets so that he can sneak away. No cold bedspreads when Roger wakes up.

"Maybe she does," Roger says without looking away from his half finished music page. "So what?"

So it doesn't say a lot that Roger would rather sleep next to his best friend than his girlfriend.

So what is it about Roger that makes girls turn to smack and why can't Roger make them stop?

So why does Mark stick around when Roger can't keep a hold of anyone else?

Mark winces at Roger's harsh tone. He fiddles with his camera so that he doesn't have to face Roger's anger head on. He says, "She using, isn't she?" Roger hits a few stings on his guitar so that he doesn't have to answer. Mark says, "That's why you come up here, isn't it? So that you don't have to be with her when she's high. So that you don't have to stop her." Musetta's Waltz fills the air without Roger realizing what he's playing. Mark says, "You don't want to have to watch her do that, do you?"

The warm up waltz ends in a clash of sour notes. "Of course I can't!" Roger snaps. "I don't want to have to see Mimi like that!"

"You're jealous," Mark accuses. "You can't stand seeing her like that when you can't get high with her."

They're both on their feet. Mark has his fists curled up until the knuckles are stark white. Roger is looming over his friend with a mincing sneer and a dangerous look in his eyes. "It's not like that," Roger growls. He wants to hit something. He wants to hit Mark for suggesting Roger could fall back into his old habits, for not trusting him. He wants to hit Mark because Roger often wonders how much easier it would be to just give in and follow Mimi down.

Mark is flushed. His breathing is uneven and loud. He looks ready for a fight. When he speaks it's barely above a whisper. "Promise me you're not using again." Mark pleas, "Promise me you're won't start using again, Roger. Promise me."

Mark's voice drains away Roger's anger. Mark's eyes make Roger want to fall to his knees and hold Mark close and never even look at a needle again.

Roger hesitates, teetering between rage and the need to comfort. "I promise." His voice is low and cracks as he stumbles over the words. He says, "I'm not going to do that again, Mark, I promise. It's just... It would be..."

Roger's voice breaks down and so does Roger, and then Mark is right there. He's there to hold and comfort and make sure that Roger doesn't fall too far. It's all right for Roger to break down because Mark is there, and Mark understands.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

That night Mimi calls in from work.

"Dillon needs me to stay late," she says. Roger can hear music and drunken laughter in the background. It doesn't sound like a restaurant. Mimi puts her hand over the receiver. There are muffled voices and a small scuffle. When Mimi comes back on she sounds too happy. "You don't need to wait up for me. I love you, Roger."

Roger hangs up the phone and goes to the loft.

Mark is in bed but not a sleep. Roger slides beneath the covers and scoots as close as he can. He buries his face in the crook of Mark's neck. In his arms, Mark begins shifting away. Roger says, "Please," and holds tight.

Roger thinks about Mimi sliding up some stranger's chest. He imagines rough hands tugging at her skirt. The mystery man in his head looks a lot like his old dealer

Mark coughs. "Rog, I can't breathe," He complains. Roger doesn't let go. Mark wiggles around in his arms some more before. Each move only makes Roger more determine to hold on. After a while Mark stops fighting against him. He sighs. "I'm not going to leave you, Roger."

Roger loosens his arms enough that Mark can breathe. "You need to talk about this, Roger," Mark says, propping himself up on his elbows.

Roger nuzzles closer to Mark. He shuts his eyes and tries to make Mark's voice go away. All he wants right now is a warm body that isn't going to disappoint him. "I can't think about it," Roger admits. "I can't keep watching Mimi destroy herself over drugs like that. I love her too much."

Mark sighs and pulls out of Roger's arms. Roger opens his eyes when he feels the mattress move. Mark is standing by the bed, pulling on a pair of jeans. "I can't stay here tonight."

"Where are you going?" Roger's voice is laced with desperation. He wishes Mark would look at him so that he could plead properly, but Mark is too busy packing his camera away. "Mark," Roger repeats. "Mark!" Each time he sounds a little more frantic, but Mark doesn't even slow down. "You said you wouldn't leave me."

Mark doesn't pause until he's at the door way, packed to abandon Roger for a few nights at least. "I can't do this," Mark says. He runs a hand through his already messy hair, messaging his temple and still not meeting Roger's eyes. "I can't do this anymore, Roger, I can't watch you destroy yourself over Mimi. I..."

Mark trails off, letting the bedroom door close behind him. Roger waits in bed, knowing that Mark can't just leave him. He sits up and watches the door, because any second Mark is going to come back in and apologize for deserting Roger like this. Mark knows that Roger can't deal with these kinds of things on his own. He needs Mark to be there for him, and Mark has never failed him before. He'd come back. He couldn't just forget about Roger.

The sound of the front door closing echoes through the loft. Roger stays awake all night, knowing that Mark would have to come back to him.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"He's there, isn't he?"

Collins sighs. "I don't think he wants to talk to you right now."

"Please," Roger isn't sure when he got in the habit of begging, but he'd been doing it a lot lately. "Please Collins. I don't even know what I did."

"Roger, you-"

"Don't tell me to be patient!" Roger snaps. He knows he shouldn't be getting so upset with Collins but he can't help it. A week without Mark and with Mimi to deal with, Roger couldn't sleep at night and he couldn't play his guitar to save his life. He was falling apart, and Collins is the only person in the last few days that had stuck around long enough for Roger to yell at. "Go, you sound just like Mimi. 'Just wait a while. He'll come back.' Why isn't he back yet, Collins. For fuck sake, I didn't even do anything!"

"Are you sure about that?" Collins asks. It's the sort of tone he takes on when he is trying to get Roger to see something obvious. Roger hates that tone.

Roger lets the conversation sit for a moment while he runs hand through his hair. He doesn't even try thinking back to what he might have done wrong. He's done worse before and Mark has never left him, so whatever it is this time it couldn't be Roger's fault. "I need to talk with him," Roger says. "There's all this pressure with Mimi and... I... I really need to talk with him Collins."

On the other side of the phone Collins sighs. "He's not here right now, Roger. He's out with... Someone."

"Joanne?" It's the only person Mark ever goes out with anymore.

Collins says, "No. Someone... Someone new. Give him some time, Roger. I think he's trying to work a few things out."

"Someone new?" Roger's voice is a low snarl. He's pacing across the loft, working out energy he'd rather be using to beat someone up with. "You're telling me he left so that he could go on a few dates with some chick?"

"It's nothing like that, Roger," Collins says. "Mark needs to feel good about himself. He needs to get his life together."

"And he can't do that with me?" Roger is almost yelling into the phone now. The only thing stopping him is Mimi asleep in the next room. If he wakes her up they'll just have another row. That's all they'd been doing together, lately.

"No," Collins answers. "No, he can't."

The sincerity in his friend's voice makes Roger's blood chill over. He stops pacing, almost stops breathing for a few minutes while his system tries to digest this information. Mark didn't need him. Mark didn't want him to be around. Mark really had left him.

It takes Roger a while to find his voice. "Fine." He sounds broken. He feels broken. "Fine. Let him date who ever he wants. I'm only his best fucking friend, right? Why should I be included in his life at all, huh?"

"Roger," Collins voice is soothing and understanding. Roger doesn't want to listen to him.

"I have to go," He says. "Don't bother telling him I called."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"What is it this time?"

Roger doesn't bother looking up from his guitar when Mimi comes in. He already knows how this conversation will go. It's going to be another one of their fights. Mimi is wearing her street clothes; Roger could hear her heavy boots stomping up the stairs. Roger hasn't been able to write a single song since Mark had left. Today hadn't gone any better, and the band is starting to get impatient.

"Excuse me?" Mimi asks. She doesn't sit down next to him. She stands directly in front of him, tapping her foot against the hard concrete floor and waiting for Roger to look up. He doesn't it. "What do you mean by that?"

Roger sighs, collapsing over his fender. It's no use to keep strumming away. "The fight. What is it going to be about this time?"

"Like I ever had a say," Mimi yells, heel coming down on the floor hard. "It's always you who has to be yelling about something."

"Maybe if you didn't give me so many reasons!" Roger's fingers curl around his guitar until the strings feel like they can cut his palm open. His eyes are closed so tightly he can feel the blood pumping around his skull. "I don't want to do this."

Mimi snorts. "Yes you do. You always need something to get on me about, Roger. You have to know everything I do and every one I see. You're the one who starts these fights, not me!" Mimi sighs, shaking her head. "No wonder Mark left."

That does it. The guitar hits the ground with a loud thud. Roger is on his feet, pushing himself up into Mimi's face. "You have no idea!" He yells. "You come in here high on smack and dressed like that. What do you expect me to think, Mimi?"

"Maybe if you stopped acting like such a possessive asshole people would stick around." Roger tries to reply, but Mimi is already storming out, shouting Spanish phrases that Roger can't understand.

He follows after her, ignoring the slammed down in his face. "So that's it, you're leaving!" He yells, leaning over the railing as Mimi hurries down the stairs.

"Mark had the right idea!" Mimi doesn't stop when she's screaming up at Roger. "You and your fucking problems."

"My problems! I'm not the one who-" Mimi is almost out of sight. Roger lets go of the railing and runs after her. "I'm not the one who fucks around for some extra blow."

"I need blow to deal with you!" Mimi shouts back, tugging the front door open so hard the frame shakes. She stalks out onto the front street, knocking over one of the homeless men sleeping on the front step.

"Don't bother coming back," Roger yells, and Mimi keeps walking away.


	4. May Thy Slumber Be Blessed

**Touch and Tell Lullaby**  
**Chapter IV: May Thy Slumber Be Blessed**

Roger doesn't sleep anymore.

For the first couple of nights he goes through the motions. He lies in the dark with his eyes and wills his mind to shut off and let him sleep. Then he spends all night tossing, turning, and thinking about Mimi and Mark.

He tries to remind himself that it's not forever. Couples get into fights all the time, especially if that couple is Mimi and Roger. He figures they both just need some time to cool down. Then everything will go back to smiles and songs for a while. That's how it always seems to work between them. It's their pattern. As for Mark, Roger isn't so sure when their pattern became so broken and unpredictable. He tries not to worry about it, but there isn't much else to do laying awake at five in the morning.

By the third night Roger is sick of pretending. He stops trying to get any sleep. All day he mopes around the loft, waiting. He thinks about going to check on Mimi's apartment, calling Collin's place to see how Mark is doing, or at least picking up his guitar and trying to play something. He thinks about trying to get his life together, but everything seems to hard. Roger is walking a thin line between sleep and consciousness. He's exhausted and everything seems impossible.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Roger doesn't answer the door.

He's lying back on the couch, too tired to move and unable to sleep. His body has been ready to collapse for days but his mind won't let him. Every part of Roger is begging him to just give up. Every part expect for the one that keeps him awake at night.

"Go away," he whispers to whoever is knocking. He can't summon the energy to scream. "I don't care who it is, just go away."

The knocking stops, and there is the squeak of rusty hinges moving as the door swings open.

"Roger?" Roger's mind is sluggish from his weeklong insomnia. He hears someone calling for him but he can't pin down the voice and his body refuses to react. "Roger? Rog... Oh, God. Are you okay?"

"Mark?" Roger forces his eyes open. The voice is too familiar for him to ever forget, even if he's slow to recognize it. Sure enough, Mark is leaning over the couch, the usual look of worry on his face. Roger is all to glad to have someone worried over him. He's too worn out to worry about himself.

"You look like shit," Mark says. Roger isn't sure wither he should growl or laugh. He can't manage either. "Collins says you stopped calling."

"You're never there," Roger says. His voice is so slurred by exhaustion he almost sounds drunk. That wonderful look of anxiety on Mark's face turns into fear. Roger's half conscious mind laps it up. He wants Mark to be worried about him. Let him feel responsible for Roger's falling apart. It was only fair, considering that it was all Mark's fault in the first place. Mark shouldn't have ever left him alone. "You didn't want to talk to me. You were getting a new life, remember?" He manages to sound spiteful even now.

Mark looks away. Roger loves his friend's guilt. "They said you hadn't picked up your AZT." Mark reaches into his pocket and pulls out a familiar bottle. "I thought you might be..."

Roger groans and rolls over on his side. Mark looks up to meet his eyes. He is close to tears. "I feel it," Roger admits.

"You should eat something," Mark says. "And take your pills. Here, let me-"

Before Mark can stand up Roger reaches out to grab hold of his friend's arm. It takes more strength then he really has, but he'd do anything to keep Mark there. "Don't leave." There is an edge of desperation in Roger's voice that scares even him.

"I won't leave you, Roger," Mark promises. "But we need to get your better."

"I just need sleep." Roger tries pulling Mark over to him. It had been easy before. Even sick he was still stronger than Mark. Now, he's pulling was more of a halfhearted tug. "Please."

"You should eat," Mark says, but he stops trying to stand up. Roger gives another weak tug.

"I just need you to stay with me," Roger says. Mark looks unsure. His eyes go between Roger and the kitchen. Roger doesn't know what he's debating and he doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything but getting to sleep.

Finally Mark breaks down. "Let me get a blanket." When he moves away Roger can't hold back a whimper. Mark looks back and says, "I'll be back in a second, Rog."

Roger tries to nod. He's not quite sure if he manages it or not, but Mark smiles back and wonders off towards the kitchen. Roger lets his eyes fall closes. He listens to Mark's footsteps cross the concrete floors, and the sound of hushed voices. Roger screws up his face, trying to concentrate on the words so hard that it hurts. But the whispers are too far off and he can't make himself turn around. There are more footsteps and the sound of the front door closing.

"Mark?" Roger sounds ready to cry. His voice bounces around the empty apartment and he's pretty sure he's going to be sick.

"I'm here, Roger." There's a blanket being placed over him. Roger thinks about trying to get his eyes to open again, but the couch is dipping down under a new weight and a body is wrapping around him.

"Small couch," Mark chuckles nervously. Roger yawns in reply, nuzzling into the nice heat settles beside him. Mark says something else that Roger doesn't quite hear before he passes out.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Roger wakes up to a pair of hands playing in his hair.

It feels wonderful. A mix between petting and a massage. Roger's world is still hazy from sleep, and he prays the feeling isn't the ghost of his dreams. He moans, leaning back into the touch and whimpers for more when the hand almost pulls away. Slowly his mind starts taking stalk of what is happening. He's curled up with his arms around someone's waist. The two bodies are so close their nearly sharing the same space. Roger doesn't know what time it is, but he feels good. He'd feel even better if the petting kept up.

He remembers being really tired. He remembers wanting to let himself die. He doesn't remember why, and he rather hopes whatever it is Mark has managed to fix it.

Roger's hands find a firm ass. He grabs the body, pushing them together and grinding against the heat. He nuzzles into the crook of the person's neck and bites down, earning himself a loud moan.

The petting stops. Roger sighs, forcing his eyes opened. Bellow him is a stretch of pale skin marred by a bright red mark and curls of pale blonde hair.

He remembers Mimi screaming at him. He remembers falling down on the couch unable to move. He remembers Mark coming to rescue him, which makes sense. That's what Mark does, after all.

"Mark?" Roger yawns right in his friends face. "Morning."

Mark wiggles, trying to free himself from Roger's arms. Roger smirks at the same time that Mark figures out that wiggling isn't the best plan. Roger isn't the only one with sex on his mind.

"Afternoon," Mark corrects. His hands come between the two boy's bodies, giving Roger a little push. Roger moves back a few inches, dropping his hold on Mark's waist so that the other boy has enough room to breathe. "Starting to think you weren't going to wake up. If it weren't for your snoring I would have though you weren't breathing."

Roger rolls his eyes. "Ha ha."

"It's not so funny when it sounds like an airplane engine inches from your ears." Roger laughs, because it feels so good to be well rested and to have Mark smiling like that.

Even as he thinks about it Mark's smile hitches and then disappears. "We should get up, now," he says. He moves away from Roger, hoping awkwardly off the couch. "You need to take your AZT," Mark says over his shoulder as he walks to the kitchen.

Roger yawns again and stretches out, letting the blanket fall to the floor. He can hear Mark busying himself in the kitchen. "What you doing?" Roger yells over. He has been in the loft alone for two weeks. He knows there is no sign of food in their apartment.

"Getting you a something to eat." Mark comes out of the kitchen with a sandwich in one hand, a bottle of pills and glass of water in the other, and a bag of chips between his teeth.

"Collins?" Roger asks, pulling the chips out of Mark's mouth. Mark hands him the pills and water. "He was over here last night, wasn't he?" Roger asks around a mouthful of bread and ham. His stomach is rumbling even as he chews.

"That was Tina, actually." Mark opens the pill bottle and hands them over to Roger, who ignores them and fixes Mark with a suspicious look.

"Tina?" He asks. He tries to remember ever hearing about anyone named Tina before and comes up short. "Who's Tina?"

"Take your pills, Roger," Mark says. Roger swallows down the pills, but keeps his eyes on Mark.

"Who is she?" He repeats, wiping a stream of water from his chin. He takes a handful of chips and stuffs them in his mouth, waiting for Mark to explain.

Mark's cheeks turn pink. He stares at his hands, which are playing with the extra cloth of his shirt. "She's just this girl I know. She thought she'd help me out. You know, buy us some grocery. Help with your meds."

Roger remembers Collins mentioning Mark trying to get his life together, seeing some girl. "You're dating her?" It isn't a question. It is an accusation.

Mark sighs and pushes himself off the couch. "It doesn't matter," he says.

The food is forgotten. Roger really doesn't want to eat it anymore. "Sounds like a stripper name," he says, trying to hide his animosity with a conversational tone. "Where did you meet her?"

"She's not like that!" Mark snaps. He's up from the couch, stalking away from Roger. "I know you wouldn't like her."

"Is that why you left?" Roger sneers, knocking the bag of chips to the floor when he gets up. "Because of some girl who thought I wouldn't like?" If there is going to be a fight he wants to be ready for it.

Mark is ranting and raving, pacing across the loft floor and throwing his hands in wild directions as he speaks. "Why is it every time someone does something nice for you, you have to try and fight them?" Mark asks. "You haven't meant her and already you're being an asshole. Why is that, Roger?"

"It's not my fault I haven't meant her!" Roger yells back. "You're the one who's ashamed to bring her here."

"I did bring her here! And you were slowly killing yourself. Quite the impression you made, by the way." Mark is on the defensive. It amazes Roger that no matter what they fight about, Mark always ends up protecting someone from Roger. It's always Roger who plays the part of the bad guy. The villain to Mark's tested hero. It isn't fair. This isn't Roger's fault. It's Mark who just got up one night and left him here alone. It is Mark who abandoned Roger and refused to return his calls. It is Mark who owed him an apology, not the other way around. Not this time.

Roger can't deal with this. He grabs his guitar and says, "I'm going to see Mimi."

"Fine!" Mark says. "Run away. It's what you're good at!"

"You're one to talk!" Roger yells back before slamming the door behind him.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Roger sleeps just as well with Mimi as he did with Mark.

It's been two days and Roger can't bring himself to go back to the loft. Mimi didn't exactly welcome him back, but she was to high to say no. In fact, Roger is sure he hadn't seen Mimi sober since he first got there, but it was better that way. She didn't try and talk about why he came back or why he couldn't be up at the loft. What's really important is that he has a warm body to sleep next to and that he has plenty of time to sit and simmer.

It is a good plan until Mimi catches on.

"This is about Mark, isn't it?" She asks when she gets home from work.

Roger is sitting with his guitar out and paper spread around him. He says, "I don't want to talk about it."

Mimi snorts. "Big surprise." She falls back on the bed, peeling off her shoes. "What'd you do this time?"

Roger glowers. "What makes you think it was my fault?" He asks. "It was Mark who left in the first place."

Mimi laughs. It's not the seductive laugh Roger fell in love with. It's bitter and has a bite to it that strings at Roger's heart. "Don't bother, Roger. It was you who left. Mark was just being smart about it."

"What does that mean?" Roger snaps, but he already knows what it means. Him and Mimi had already had this fight.

Mimi doesn't start screaming, though. She doesn't throw something at Roger from across the room. She just stays at her bed, tangling her hands in her hair and shaking her head. "I can't do this anymore."

Roger thinks that maybe he hadn't heard right. She says it so quietly that he's sure he must have missed something. "What?"

"You're too much," she says. "I can't keep yelling at you, Roger. I don't have the energy."

"But you have enough energy for smack?" He shouts, blood boiling over so that he can hear his heart beating in his ears. "You have enough energy to screw every other guy you meet? You have enough energy to string me along but not to actually love me, is that it?"

"No!" Mimi has tears in her eyes, and that's like a hit to Roger's jaw. They fight all the time, but this is different. There is always yelling and screaming, but Roger isn't suppose to make Mimi cry. "That's not it at all. I... You know, I try for you. I get a good job and I... I really try but then all you ever do is think about yourself. I was clean and I wasn't doing anyone but you, and that was never enough, Roger. You didn't want me unless you could control me. You didn't want me unless you could pick me apart." All this spills out before Roger can say another word in his defense. Mimi is sitting on the edge of her bed trembling with tears running down her cheeks. She takes a deep breath. The room is so quite Roger can hear the air get sucked into her lungs. "I love you, Roger."

"Mimi, I-"

Mimi cuts him off. "All you had to do was love me back." She whispers this last part, and Roger finds that he can barely breathe.

"I did love you," Roger says. "I loved you so much."

Mimi stands up. She thin, Roger notices, too thin and shaking so much she can barely get to her feet. Her hair falls flat and isn't as healthy looking as it once was. He skin has lost its glow. She looks terrible, and Roger wonders when all this happened. When had he stopped looking at Mimi?

"I... I can't do this right now." She stumbles over the words and stumbles out the door.

Roger is left alone.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Mark?"

The loft echoes with the sounds of an abused victim. Roger knows it all to well. He pushes open Mark's door, trying to stay as silent as possible and not wake up his friend.

He's surprised to see Mark's bed made up and empty.

"Mark?" He calls again, listening to the whimpering that bounces off the walls. There are only three real rooms in the apartment, and seeing as Mark isn't on the couch or in his bed that doesn't leave many place for him to sleep.

Roger shuffles across the floor to his own room.

Even with the lights turned off Roger can see Mark in his bed, trying to tear apart Roger's covers. He is doing a pretty good job of it, too.

Roger sighs, happy that Mark is already asleep. It will be easier this way, to just slip in bed with him. Better than trying to talk about what happened or, worse, trying to talk about Mimi.

He peels off his two day old shirt and pants, leaning his guitar against the wall. Mark has his feet tangled in the sheets and most of the blankets are either on the floor or being strangled by his wild hands. There's a bit of a struggle when Roger tries to pull them away, but it doesn't take too long after their lying together for Mark to give up on his fight with invisible monsters and cuddle up to Roger.

Roger is all to glad to have someone in his arms that night, and if he could have picked anyone to be next to right then it would have been Mark.

"Don't leave me," Roger mutters into the nest of blond hair tickling his chin. "Never again, okay?"

Mark gives a halfhearted snore in reply, and for now that's all the promise Roger needs.


	5. Don't Say A Word

**Touch and Tell Lullaby****  
Chapter V: Don't Say a Word**

When Mark wakes up the next morning Roger's been up for nearly an hour. He's been watching over Mark, making sure that he hasn't missed anything. Making sure he didn't stop seeing Mark like he'd stopped seeing with Mimi.

Mark yawns and murmurs, "Roger?" His voice is soft and thick. He blinks a few times before squinting, trying to make the world go clear without his glasses to help him. "What are you doing here?"

"You were having nightmares," Roger explains. His stomach turns at the thought of Mimi closing the door behind her. Roger doesn't think he can talk about it without being sick. "You always have nightmares without me."

Mark bites at his lower lip when he thinks, and the way he's looking at Roger is a give away for what he's thinking about. Roger tries not to meet his eyes. He watches his hands ring the thin fabric of the covers, instead. He's ready to start the screaming match if Mark so much as mentions her name.

A whole minute passes before Mark is done thinking. Roger dares a glance up at his friend when he hears a loud sigh. Mark shifts closer to Roger, trapping Roger's worried hands between them. Roger's hands clench into his friend's nightshirt. He doesn't have a choice in this.

"Not true," Mark mutters. His eyes are fluttering closed again. Roger relaxes into him, closing his eyes at the same time so that he can mentally chant a hundred words of gratitude over and over again that Mark isn't going to call him on his lie.

When Roger opens his eyes again, Mark's breathing is starting to slow down. He wiggles his hands free so that he can tangle the two bodies together. Mark doesn't try and fight his way out of Roger's arms, and it feels so good to hold onto something as steady as Mark again. "Yes, you do," Roger says. "You cry in your sleep. You're such a girl."

Mark growls, and Roger laughs because it's the least threatening thing he's ever heard. It sounded more like a purr muffled against his chest. "Am not," Mark mutters. He twists and turns under the covers so that he's pressed flushed against Roger.

Roger's hands find the nap of Mark's neck, the perfect place to play with little wisps of hair. "Are so," Roger whispers back. He's lost the conversation, but he wants to keep talking. He wants to keep everything exactly like this.

Half asleep and being lulled further down by Roger's gentle petting, Mark only barely manages something that sounds like "Mnot."

The two boys stay in bed for most of the afternoon.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Roger is resolved not to talk about Mimi.

Mark doesn't force it out of him, but Roger spends a lot of his time avoiding Mark anyway. They take on a rather familiar routine. They wake up, Mark tries to get Roger excited about something and Roger refuses, then Mark goes out to film and Roger stays in the loft all day. It is like going through withdraw, only Roger can still play the guitar and he spends the nights in Mark's arms.

Still, he doesn't want to face the outside world and each day it gets harder not to scream out. Mimi has become the smack he isn't allowed to inject. She's the drug that tears away at his heart. He shakes when he thinks about her. He needs her. He feels like he's nothing without her.

It's like he's lost April and drugs and his health all over again.

While Roger is sulking around the loft, Mark is trying to keep him from destroying himself. "Eat this, Roger," Mark will saying, shoving food they don't have the money for into Roger's hands so that Roger can prod at it with a fork and refuse to eat it. "Take your AZT," Mark reminds him, setting everything out so that all Roger has to do is follow instructions. "Why don't you try playing something," Mark will suggest, pleading with Roger to do something other than sit around and brood over Mimi. "Roger, you need to get out. Roger, you need to stop being like this. Roger, please, Roger."

For the most part Mark is ignored. Roger lets his friend lead him around, pretending to eat and take his pills and care, but nothing Mark says or does stays with Roger. Mark is in charge of making sure Roger goes on living, and Roger barely acknowledges him for that.

The only time he pays attention to Mark is when they sleep. Even then, neither boy is sure who Roger is holding. Arms wrap around each other, faces nuzzle against flat chest, and two very male bodies are pressed together. But body heat is body heat is body heat. Mark is warm in the same way Mimi is, and it's clear which one Roger needs with him at night.

It drives Mark insane.

"You can't do this," He tells Roger. Roger is curled up on the couch. He has spent the morning watching the wall and the occasional cockroaches that scampered across the gritty surface. Mark steps in front of him and Roger doesn't even flinch. "Roger? Come on, you can't do this." You can't do this, Roger. You can't shut off completely. It's self-inflicted rehab all over again.

Roger stares right through him. Mark sighs. He grabs his camera, falling onto the couch with a loud thud that shakes the furniture. He starts emptying the film dangerous fast, fingers slipping and beating at the camera's black body. Roger turns to watch. He'd never seen Mark take his anger out on his camera before.

Mark's finger slip a little too far and slices itself against one of the awkward curves of the old machine. "Fuck!" The camera hits the floor. Mark lifts his finger to his lips, sucking up the line of blood. If Roger didn't feel so numb he would have screamed at Mark. Told him he was being a complete idiot for acting so upset just because of the way Roger was acting.

Mark leans over to rescue his camera. He isn't any calmer. Roger can see his body trembling.

"She left me," Roger mutters. Mark looks up, as if he's not sure he's heard right. "She left me, Mark."

"So you two had a fight," Mark says, trying to sound calming for Roger's sake. It's amazing how fast he can drop all of that anger when Roger needs him. "It happens. She'll be back."

Roger remembers the look on Mimi's face when she left. He remembers the silent tear tracks down her cheeks and the sag in her shoulders right before the door closed Roger inside the apartment without her. All their other fights were loud and passionate. This one had ended in dead quiet. "No she won't," Roger says. "She's not coming back this time Mark. She's gone for good."

He says it the same way Mimi had told him she was leaving. A dead sounding tone barely above a whisper. When she told him goodbye, something inside him shattered. He expects the same for everyone else, but when he tells Mark, the cameraman simply stares back at Roger. For once he doesn't offer any calming words or advice. Like he doesn't even think its all that important.

"Don't you get it?" There is a rise in Roger's voice. He moves above a whisper, even if he isn't ready to yell quite yet. "She's gone Mark. She left and she's not coming back!"

Mark takes a moment before he says, "People break up all the time, Rog-"

"All the time!" Roger stands up, lashing out at Mark. "All the time! Mark, I don't have all the time, remember! I had this one shot, this one chance with Mimi and now it's gone."

"You don't know that, Roger." Mark is trying to stay as calm, but something in his eyes is burning. Roger can't tell and doesn't care what it means. "Just because Mimi left you doesn't mean it's your last shot maybe-"

"Maybe what, Mark? Maybe... Maybe I'll find someone else, right?"

"Exactly, Rog-" Mark starts, but Roger is more interested in yelling than listening.

"Maybe the love of my life while just stroll through those doors any minute. Maybe they can over look the fact that I'm walking death and so fucked up that everyone else in my lifer has to turn to drugs to deal with me. Maybe they won't care about all that stuff but really love me for me. And maybe she'll be everything I'll ever need and true love will over come all obstacles and the AIDs will just disappear and we'll live happily ever after. Is that how it works, Mark?"

Roger is raving, inches from Mark's face so that they two can share the same explosive air that is over heating the loft. Mark doesn't flinch with Roger so close. He doesn't fidget under his friend's glower or the rising temperature of the apartment. He remains completely still, fist clenched so tight that blood can't make it to his cut. Roger doesn't wait for Mark to think up a reply. "The real world doesn't work like that. This isn't one of your films, Mark. There isn't going to be any nice resolution before the credits. "

"I never said that!" Mark cries, somewhere between anger and begging Roger to think rationally. "I never said any of that, but Roger you can't keep doing this to yourself. You can't keep destroying yourself over Mimi."

"Why not?" Roger shot back. "What else do I have to live for?"

Mark pushes against Roger's chest, hard enough to send the musician tumbling and clutching his ribs. "How can you even say that?" He's screaming now, just as loudly as Roger. "Are you telling me that the only thing you had to live for was Mimi? What about your music? What about Collins? What about me? Or is that all so easy to forget, Roger." The last sentence is spit with so much malice that Roger stumbles again without any help. "Is it so easy to forgot about us when you're hurt? You're the one on the main stage, and every one is expected to listen and do as you tell them. Everything else is background noise to you, Roger, even Mimi."

Mark and Roger, they're always honest when they're yelling at each other. Still, there are some things that shouldn't be spoken.

Mark's words end and both boy are too shocked to do anything. When Roger does move, he's shaking so badly he nearly trips over his own feet. "Fuck you," he says. He doesn't think he can manage much more at the moment. "Fuck you, Mark."

He storms off to his room, slamming the door so loud that he can't hear Mark's apology.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

That night, Roger decides he doesn't need sleep.

He stays up in bed with his guitar out, picking at a few random strings that don't amount to shit. Trying to connect them in his mind and force them to form a melody of some sort means he doesn't have to think about Mark or Mimi or anything else in his life.

Mark is set on making this as hard as he can for Roger.

The door opens halfway, and Mark stands there, too nervous to enter. Roger doesn't look up from his Fender's off key strings. "Roger?"

The heat from this morning has cooled down, leaving the apartment feeling cold and empty. Roger shivers, but otherwise refuses to acknowledge Mark's presences. In turn, Mark refuses to acknowledge Roger's silent dismissal. "Roger? Can I come in?"

"Why?" Roger knows Mark well enough that he can tell when his friend is in one of those moods. Mark won't give up until they're talking, even if talking results in more yelling and near fist fights.

Mark wraps his arms around himself, which only makes his trembling more obvious. Roger isn't the only one left feeling cold. "I'm having nightmares again."

Roger snorts. "Big surprise," he says. "Why don't you go see Tina, then? After all, it's not like I care. I'm to busy being selfish."

Mark winces when Roger throw their earlier fight back at him, but he doesn't back down. Instead he takes his first step into Roger's room. "I don't want to be with Tina," he says, and then he's sitting down on the other side of Roger's bed. Roger turns himself further away, leaning over his guitar until he can't see any of Mark. Mark scoots closer to Roger, and Roger starts strumming at his guitar again. It's a slow, sad chord Roger doesn't often play.

The notes jump when Mark lays a hand against Roger's shoulder. Roger closes his eyes so he doesn't have to watch, but he can hear the covers being lifted aside. Roger keeps playing, and Mark props his head up to listen as the notes stretch on. His hand moves to the back of Roger's neck, so gentle that it sends shivers down Roger's spine. The sort that have nothing to do with chilly weather.

There are a lot of things being said, most of which Roger is too afraid to translate in his head.

When the song ends Mark says, "Are you angry at me?"

Roger closes his eyes again, thinking back to their fight. "Yes."

Mark pulls the sheets over Roger's lap. "Good," he says. Roger raises an eyebrow, finally looking Mark in the eyes. The young man turns red. "I mean... I hate it when you act like that. I didn't mean for it to go so far, but I couldn't stand to see you so depressed, Roger."

"You'd rather I was angry at you?" Roger asks. His tone is noncommittal. He isn't sure wither he should laugh or scream.

Mark yawns. He snuggles into one of the two shabby pillows they have in the loft. Both have been moved to Roger's bed in the last few months. "I don't know," Mark admits. "But I couldn't take you moping around the apartment like some teenage girl anymore."

Roger takes a swing at Mark's stomach. It isn't gentle enough to be entirely playful, and Mark winces and curls into himself a bit. Roger ends up running his hand through his friend's hair. It's easier than an apology, and Roger isn't sure he could honestly mean one right then. "You are so fucked up," he says.

"Because of you." The lights are turned off and Roger lays back in bed, tucked in with covers and Mark to help chase away the last of the chills for their fight. "If I'm fucked up it's your fault, Roger."

Roger stretches out under the covers, using Mark's elbow as a pillow. "Shut up, Mark," he growls. "I'm trying to sleep."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Rise and shine, boy!"

Roger growls. He's warm and still half asleep. He doesn't feel like getting up, and he doesn't feel like dealing with anyone half as cheerful as the voice calling out to him. Without opening his eyes, Roger picks his pillow up from under his back and throws it at the doorway.

He doesn't remember that there might be something there to stop him.

"Owe!" Roger's hand comes in contact with something that is not air before he can quite let go of the pillow. The resulting yelp forces Roger to gain consciousness.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, yawning as his mind tries to catch up with the rest of the world. Mark is holding his shoulder, massaging away at a bright red area that is already starting to bruise.

"You okay?" Roger asks, pushing himself up on his elbows to get a better look.

"Fine," Mark answers with a cross between a cringe and a smile.

"Should I leave you two love birds alone in the nest for a while?" A deep voice asks. Collins is leaning against the doorframe, looking more too chipper for the morning. He's wearing a smile Roger knows all too well. Roger doesn't like the way he keeps it aimed on Mark.

"Collins!" Mark jumps out of bed, and Collins laughs before he hugs the smaller boy into a hug. "I thought you were teaching down in Georgia Tech."

"Couldn't stay away from New York that long," Collins laughed, keeping one arm around Mark's shoulder while he looked back to Roger. "Just like you said, huh Roger?" Collins asks. He's giving Roger the same look from earlier. That slightly mischievous, I-know-more-than-you-do smile that frustrates Roger so much.

"But you haven't even been gone a month," Mark points out. He laughs when he asks, "How can you even get fired that quickly?"

It's nice to hear Mark laughing. It feels like forever since him and Mark weren't at each other's throats, but then Mark had smiled for Roger when he'd first came back to the loft. Less than a month since he'd left Collins's place and come home. It seems longer to Roger. They always seem to be going longer and longer between the good times.

"What time is it, Collins?" Roger asks, kicking the blankets off him and struggling to get up. He isn't quite as happy to see his friend. Not after the way he hid Mark away from him, then had the balls to walk in on them like he knew something Roger didn't.

"Nearly noon," Collins answers. "Time for lunch." Mark's stomach gives a well-timed growl. Collins winks down at the younger man. "You sound like you could use something to eat." He reaches in his coat and pulls out a thick roll of twenties, causing both of the other boy's jaws to drop. "And I have just the flow."

"Where'd you get that!" Roger manages to say after the shocks wears off enough that he can move his mouth.

Collins laughs. "A man does not program and tell."

"Bullshit!"

Collins is still laughing, and his good cheer spread quickly to Mark. "You can tell us later," Mark says, squirming out from under Collin's arm. "I'm starved! Let me grab a shirt and we'll head to the Life Café!"

Collins ruffles Mark's hair. "Grab your best sweaters boys. I think this calls for a celebration!"

"Celebrate what?" Mark asks, flattening out his nest of morning hair.

Collins shots Roger a grin that is almost a wink. "I'll tell you on the way there," he says, like Roger should understand. The musician digs around in his mind, but comes up empty.

"Whatever it is, there better be beer," Mark calls, heading off to his room to grab a shirt.

"Clean pants, too," Collins yells after him. He waits until Mark's door closes to look back at Roger. He's wearing a grin large enough to split his face. Roger still hasn't caught on to any of this.

"So you finally figured it out," Collins asks. He pats Roger on the shoulder like he is congratulating him on a good gig. "It's about time."

"What are you talking about, Collins?" Roger gets out of bed and starts kicking around the pile of clothes on the floor. He owns about three pairs of pants and one hundred T-shirts for various bands, most of which don't fit or have too many holes to wear in the autumn.

Collins's shakes his head and says, "Don't be coy, Roger. I'm surprise Mark still keeps his clothes in his old room."

"It's not his old room!" Roger snaps. "He still lives here, and he's not leaving! If that's what this is about, you can just fuck off."

Collins's smile disappears. He gives Roger a searching look, and Roger returns it with a growl. Collins didn't seriously think that Mark is going to leave him again, did he? Roger wouldn't let him, not even if his other friend tried to stand in his way. But when Collins speaks it doesn't sound like he wants Mark to leave. He says, "You two sleep in the same room?"

Roger shrugs his shoulders. "He has nightmares," he answers. "He can't sleep at night without me."

Collins nods. "That I know," he replies. "But you..."

"I'm a friend!" Roger throws his hands up in the air. "Of course I'm going to help him. Does everything really think I don't care about anyone but myself?"

Collins raises an eyebrow. He crosses his arms, and he's looking at Roger again like he wants to see into his head. "That's what it is? You're helping Mark with nightmares?"

"It's none of your business." Roger isn't sure why he's acting so defensive with Collins, but he doesn't like the way Collins makes it sound. It is just a friend thing. Roger helps fight Mark's nightmares away and Mark keeps Roger company in bed. There is nothing weird about it.

Roger wants to believe that, so why can't Collins let him?

Before Collins can say anything else, Mark is back. He's wearing a pair of clean black jeans that look just like most of the one she owns and a gray sweater without any holes that's just a little to big from him. Roger recognizes it as birthday gift from Mimi. Mark runs a hand through his hair and straightens out his glasses. "Ready!" He announces, smiling up at Collins.

Collins smiles back, but it's nothing like his earlier cheer. "Are you okay?" Mark's face falls slightly.

Roger zips up his jacket to hide his torn up rocker shirt. He pushes Mark out the door and says, "Come on, I'm hungry."

Mark's face lights up. "You got him to come!" He says, looking over Roger's shoulder at Collins. Collins smiles and shrugs, but Mark doesn't notice his sudden lack of enthusiasm. He laughs and grabs Roger by the shoulder, leading the way out the door. Roger can't help but smile, even as he's being pulled from the loft.

While Mark is climbing down the stairs, Collins and him share a look, and Roger silent begs him to drop their earlier conversation. They're getting too close to things Roger doesn't want to discuss. Collins gives a small nod, but his frown makes it clear that he's not doing it for Roger's benefit. Roger doesn't care why, just so long as some things go unsaid.


	6. Sweet Moans, Dovelike Sighs

**Touch and Tell Lullaby****  
Chapter VI: Sweet Moans, Dovelike Sighs**

"Collins, I think you've killed me."

Mark groans, hands wrapped around his stomach, and making a face that had both his friends laughing at him. Collins pats Mark on the back, telling him that if he's going to be sick he'd better do it before they get in the loft.

Roger says, "Didn't you mom every tell you to chew?"

Mark moans. He pushes into Roger, forcing his friend off the edge of the sidewalk. When Roger flips him off, Mark sticks out his tongue.

A passing drag queen winks and says, "Don't do that unless you intend to use it, honey," and makes Mark snap his mouth shut.

Roger growls over his shoulder as the offending queen, stepping back on the sidewalk next to Mark. Collins keeps laughing, as if he finds Mark being hit on by some streetwalker to be amusing. Roger doesn't think so, but then Mark is chuckling as well even as his face is turning a botchy pink.

Collins says, "How long has it been since you've had a proper meal Mark? You practically breathed in your food."

Mark shrugs, still covering his belly, which is starting to make weird noises. Collins gives Roger a troubled look over Mark's head. He knows what that shrug means. "It was so good though," Mark whines. "I had to eat it all."

"But you had to eat it all in under a minute?" Roger asks. A girl in tight leather pants and something that can't be considered a shirt gives him the eye. He steps a little closer to Mark when they pass.

Mark moans again, a sound that quickly turns into a yawn. He leans his head against Roger's shoulder. "How could you not?" He asks.

Roger shrugs. He really hadn't been all that hungry. Besides, even if he doesn't exactly get a regular meal certain people in the loft made sure he is always feed, regardless of currant income. Certain people make sure Roger never goes too long without food.

"After that meal, I wouldn't be surprised if you put on a few pounds," Collins comments. In a more serious tone he adds, "It will do you good."

Mark gives Collins a quick smile to show him he doesn't have to worry. Roger wants to tell him the same thing. He can take care of Mark, just like Mark takes care of him. He's just been a little down lately, that's all. "Where did you ever find that place, Collins?" Mark asks. It's not the smoothest change of conversation, but it works. "Why haven't you ever mentioned it before?"

Something in the way Collins's smile becomes melancholy, and his eyes loose their laughing shine for a more wistful look tells Roger all he needs to know about how Collins found the restaurant. "It was Angel's favorite place," Collins says. He's not looking at Roger and Mark. He's looking up.

Mark says, "I'll bet she loves where she is now even more."

Collins smiles and says, "I'll bet by the time we get up there she'll have replaced all the harps with drum sets and the wings with backpack purses."

As they reach the complex, Mark takes a step closer to Roger, bumping their bodies together. Once they're through the doorway, Mark doesn't pull away. Of course, neither does Roger.

"You spending the night, Collins?" Mark asks, finally pulling away from Roger once their back in the loft. Collins looks indecisive, so Mark quickly says, "Come on! You just got back in town. They're probably squatters in your place by now."

Collins laughs and says, "Why not? And in the morning I can go and meet my impromptu roommates." Before he can throw himself on the couch Mark has grabbed one of the pillows and blanket's from Roger's bed and is showing their friend to his room.

"It's okay," Mark insists when Collins asks where he intends to sleep. "I remember sleeping on that couch. No one else needs to go through it. Besides, I hardly ever sleep in there anymore, anyway." Collins's eyes go between Roger and Mark, and Roger has the urge to stick his tongue out.

Collins is slightly more adult then Roger. He still looks distrustful, but he ruffles Mark's hair and tells him, "Sweet dreams."

When they get to Roger's room, Mark falls onto the bed, arms tossed over his stomach. Roger says, "You're not still going on about that, are you?"

Mark groans. "It feels like I ate an entire cow."

Roger pulls off his t-shirt and jeans before crawling in bed. "Two chickens, at least."

The second Roger pulls up the blankets, Mark curls into him. It's not exactly comfortable, what with Mark's head pressing against him and breath that smells like ketchup and Napoleon pastries right in his face, but Roger doesn't complain. It's not as if he could do much about it. Before Mark is even settled into place he's already asleep.

Roger chuckles under his breath, careful not to wake Mark up while he makes sure the smaller boy is safe in his arms. Collins doesn't understand, Roger thinks. He keeps acting like Mark is in trouble, like Roger isn't a good enough friend. Roger is trying as hard as he could. He might not be Tina or Collins or Joanne, but he could take care of Mark.

In his sleep, Mark moans, his stomach making those disturbing digestion sounds. For a second Roger is afraid the young man might vomit. But Mark is as peaceful as ever, so long as Roger has got a hold of them. Collins doesn't get them, Roger thinks. Mark and him, they could be self sufficient as long as they had each other. When Collins and Benny left, they were still there to watch over the loft. When April and Maureen jump into Roger and Mark's respective beds both of them refused to move out and leave the other. Even Mimi...

Roger didn't really want to think about Mimi.

Roger turns in bed until their foreheads are pressed together. He doesn't even mind when Mark yawns in his sleep, making Roger's next breathe of air taste like barbeque chicken and cheese. "We don't really need them, do we, Mark." His fingers find Mark's hair, twisting and pulling gently at the golden spikes until Mark moans and tries wiggling away. Roger doesn't stop until he notices the other boy's eyelashes fluttering.

"It's okay," Roger promises. His hand leaves Mark's hair to stroke his cheek. Mark looks so much younger without his glasses. Like he's had years of living and worrying about Roger stripped away from him along with his eyesight. In Roger's opinion, being blind hurt a lot more than being young and alone.

"They don't get us, do they?" Roger's fingers brush against Mark's jaw. In his sleep, Mark's stomach rumbles. He moves into Roger's warmth. Without thinking, Roger presses back. He needs Mark, as much as he would hate to admit it to the already over concerned cameraman. He's sure that Mark needs him back. Why would he stick around and care for Roger if he didn't?

His fingers trace across a slightly stubble jaw. It's an unusual feeling compared to Mimi's smooth skin. It makes Mark feel worn and uneven at all the edges. Roger thinks he could make that go away. He's just been a little distracted lately, but there was a time before Mimi, before April and drugs and AZT, that Roger took care of Mark. It was Roger who showed Mark around New York City and made sure he knew which streets were worth his time. It was Roger who kept Mark away from the seedy places off the main avenues and warned him about certain girls with certain reputations. Roger was Mark's guide for the bohemian life style. Roger knows how to take care of his friend. He's just been too busy dying to save Mark lately.

His fingers trace Mark's lips. They're chapped and dry. Roger can't help but wonder how long it's been since Mark's been properly kissed. His hand doesn't linger as long as it does on the rest of his face. He's already moving away, brushing against his closed eyes and back into his hair. "I'm going to make it up to you." Roger is glad Mark isn't awake to hear the promise. "Don't worry about us, Mark."

He seals the deal with a kiss. Quick and gentle, right on Mark's forehead. It's very brotherly, he tells himself, which makes sense. Mark and him are family. The kind that yells and punches and is too fucked up for TV, but a sort of family nonetheless. Roger wants to play the older brother again, after being pushed aside to the sick friend role for so long.

He's always meant to protect Mark. He's just been so out of it lately.

"We're going to be okay." Mark moans in his sleep. He sounds sick. It really has been way too long since his stomach has been full of food. Roger hopes he doesn't throw up in bed, but he's still holding Mark against him. "From now on, we're going to take care of each other."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Roger stretches out and bed and never wants to get up.

He feels well rested, like some weights have been lifted off his shoulders or his veins have been cleaned out. A guiltless sleep for the first time in years. Roger wants to stay exactly like this. High without being high.

He turns over in bed and that feeling starts to evaporate rather quickly.

"Mark?" Roger sits up, looking around the small room. It's just as empty as the bed. "Mark?"

Roger throws his feet over the side of the bed and worry starts to sink in. Maybe Mark had been awake for some of last night and he thought... Roger didn't want to imagine what Mark might be thinking. He would have been wrong, anyway. Roger had been slightly tipsy and feeling a bit possessive, and it isn't like he'd meant anything weird by it. It was just some harmless touching.

Still, Mark had a tendency to over think these sorts of things. He might have left. Might have gone back to Collins's and left Roger all alone.

Roger chokes back on the rising vomit.

"...Roger..."

Roger stops gagging long enough to listen. "I'm okay," he calls back without thinking. Of course, Mark is probably just in the kitchen. He probably heard Roger choking and freaked out. Any second now the young man would run in, making sure Roger is still alive and well, and then Roger would roll his eyes and chastise Mark for being such a girl.

Only Mark doesn't come running in.

"...he acts ...and I..."

Roger listens for the sound of footsteps of Mark's voice. Anything to prove that his friend isn't just going to leave him there, but all Roger can hear is hushed voices. Definitely not the sound of panicked friends.

"...wish I could...But I know..."

Roger sits on the edge of the bed, trying not to move or breath too loudly so that he can make out some of what his friends are talking about. Every now and then a few of Mark's words will float back to him, and he can tell that Collins is talking back in a voice too low to be heard.

"...Because of Mimi..."

Roger growls. So that's what it is. They're talking about how he's taking the breakup. Probably afraid that if he heard them he'd blow up and storm off. Roger feels like storming off. His hands are clenched against the mattress and his teeth are grinding together to bloke out any more of their words. If they don't want to talk about it with him, fine. He doesn't want to have to deal with their sympathy, anyway.

He wipes the spit of his chin with the back of his hand and heads for the shower. He reeks of smoke, beer, sweat, and four or five days of living. Besides, a nice shower might do him some good.

"What would they - Fuck!" Roger turns on the shower and jumps in without thinking. The water is freezing cold, barely dribbling out of the showerhead it still managing to feel like little pinpricks against his sleep-warmed skin. Roger closes his eyes and stands beneath the pathetic spray even when he starts to shake and can't catch his breath. He can't think of anything but running his hands up and down his arms to try and create some sort of heat. Everything else is just background noise to the pain and the cold.

It takes a few minutes, but the water finally starts to warm up. Slowly, at first, so that Roger stop shaking, and then hotter and hotter until it's likely to burn. Roger is to numb to care. He leaves it like that. Hot enough to boil.

The stream brings along that sort of clarity you can't get anywhere else. Roger use to shower a lot more, back when he still wrote music, when he cared so much more. Half the time it had nothing to do with getting clean. It was all about the acoustics of the bathroom - even a shitty one like this had the sort of walls sound loved - and that sort of clearness you get when the water runs over you. And some of Roger's best fantasies play out in the shower. That gets a smile, and already Roger can think of a few ways to start relaxing.

The thought doesn't get to far. Roger wishes he could think of notes and lyrics and old magazines, but all he can summon to mind is images of Mark and Collins whispering behind his back. Of Mark sneaking out of their bed, trying not to wake Roger. Of promises made to Mark when he couldn't hear.

He shakes his head, throwing water and soap bubbles everywhere. He scrubs the shampoo out and tries to think of anything but Mark, because right then is a very unsettling time to be imagining his best friend in bed. His fingers tracing over Mark's lips and playing with Mark's hair. Mark pressed against him, those little moaning sounds he makes in the night.

"Hell," Roger doesn't care what he's thinking about. He uses one hand to brace himself against the front of the shower as his body takes control. It's weird, yeah, but it doesn't mean anything that he's thinking about Mark in the shower. He's thought about guys before when he's done this and that's never meant anything, either. Hell, Roger's though plenty of weirder things while he jerked off. Band gigs and TV shows and Chinese food. This isn't any different, he tells himself. Nothing perverted about it.

He's thrusting into his hand, spiting out too-hot water as his breathing and rhythm picks up.

Roger tells himself he's too worried about Mark for his own good. If Mark weren't out there talking with Collins right now he'd be imagining some girl on her knees in front of him. Some leather clad beauty with tight thighs wrapped around his waist. That's what Roger is thinking about.

Not Mark. Not Mark curled up to him in bed. Not Mark, stretched across the top of the covers, smiling and beckoning Roger to join him. Not Mark with his slightly parted lips and pink tinted cheeks.

"Ah... Shit." There's a creaking sound when Roger slips forward, catching himself with his forearm against the hard titled walls. He winces, letting up for a second so that he can twist himself around. Even in his confused mind with a pain shooting up his left arm he can't leave himself half finished, though. It's been way too long, what with Mark in his bed all the time. Not that he minds. Not that he is even thinking about that.

A blonde with a wicked smile, stroking up her inner leg. Two girls sitting in the bed, waiting for Roger to join them. Mark twisted beneath the covers, wearing nothing but that shy, what-do-you-think smile. Breast rubbing against Roger's chest. Soft, cheery flavored lips licking at his ear. Gentle touches stroking downwards. Mark with his hands tied behind his back. Mark begging for Roger. Girls with their legs spread open and waiting. Mark stepping into the shower, leaning against Roger, taking him in his hand, making Roger come.

"Mark... Yes... Fuck..." The words come out as a breathy hiss. Roger collapses against the wall, his mind and heart racing. He doesn't give the water enough time to clean him off. He is climbing out of the shower before he can do any more damage.

Roger grabs hold of the sides of the sink, looking up at his reflection. His hair is wild when wet. His skin is burned pink. His entire body is moving as he pants, trying to fill his lungs and keep himself up at the same time. In the living room he can hear Mark saying goodbye as the front door closes.

Fuck.

Here Roger is, jerking off to images of his best friend who is just trying to make sure he's all right. Here Roger is, dirtying the spot where April fucking killed herself all those years ago.

"It doesn't mean anything." Roger says it out loud to make it true. He's pictured worse in the shower. It's just his sick, perverted mind acting up. It has nothing to do with Mark. Nothing to do with Roger's sexuality. He is trying too hard to avoid thinking about Mimi and April. He's too preoccupied, but his body doesn't care about those sorts of things. Still, it didn't mean anything. It is just this one time.

These couple of times that mean nothing.

Roger waits until he doesn't feel like he's going to be sick to let go of the sink. He stumbled back into his room, pulling on a dirty pair of clothes and thinking of ways he can avoid Mark for a while. Just until his mind stops getting these stupid, wrong ideas. Just until he can control himself instead of acting like some drunk, hormonal teenager who will take any fantasy he can get.

"Roger Rog? You out of the shower?" Roger winces, pulling off his shirt so that he can busy himself with pulling on another when Mark peaks into the room.

"Yeah?" Roger asks, voice muffled through the fabric of the old T. He's half turned away from Mark, trying to look like nothing's wrong. Trying not to look at Mark.

Roger isn't the only one avoiding eye contact. "Collins left," Mark says. He sounds nervous, and Roger's heart almost stops at the thought that maybe Mark heard him in the shower. How is he going to explain that? There's nothing creepy about jerking off to things that aren't even sexy, but how is that going to sound when he's trying to explain it to Mark? "I'm going out for a bit."

Before he can stop himself Roger asks, "Are you okay?"

Mark smiles, but Roger isn't looking close enough to see the nervous twitch in his lips. "Fine? Why?"

Part of Roger relaxes. Either he's mistake is a secret, or else Mark is willing to pretend he heard nothing. "You were moaning all last night." Roger winces at his own words, quickly adding. "Like you were ready to puke all over the covers. I thought I was going to have to kick your ass onto the floor." It's a very masculine thing to say.

Mark pats his stomach. "All better. Just needed to sleep on it." He smiles, showing Roger that everything really is fine. Neither boy believes that. "I'll be out late. You going to be okay?"

Roger rolls his eyes. "Yes, mom."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Mark is out late.

Roger's thankful for that much. Last minute teasing before Mark is out the door is easy enough, but Roger's not sure how long he could be around his friend before that sick feeling returns.

He decides not to think about it. He strums away at his guitar, even managing to come up with what sounds like a few good chord combinations. He calls up his drummer. It feels like he hasn't talked to his band mates in ages. Not since last February, at least, when Mimi started sneaking out in the middle of the night. Not that it matters, too much. Roger hasn't been able to write a single song since then.

The day passes with only fleeting thoughts of Mark. Roger spends most of the day with his Fender guitar and on the phone with Mathias, being told to go to hell and where the fuck has he been? The band can't survive off of Roger's angst, Goddamnit. They need their lead-fucking-guitarist back

The panic doesn't return until Roger hears the clicks of the front door opening.

"Roger?" Mark can hardly be one step over the foyer before he's calling for him. Roger winces, the notes he was attempting turning sour and short. "Roger?"

Mark pokes his head in. He's pink, not from embracement but from the spring sun. He asks, "You take your AZT yet?"

Roger answers with, "I've been busy." Mark gives a disappointed look.

"I'll get it," he says before disappearing into the bathroom.

Roger's mind raced. He didn't think he could sleep in the same bed as Mark. Not tonight. How the hell is he going to explain that one as they'd been sharing for so long? It isn't like they really shared a bed, just like Roger's fantasies didn't really mean anything. Still, it isn't going to be fun to explain.

Mark throws the pill bottle onto the mattress. "Drink up, big boy," he laughs before closing the door behind him.

Roger waits for Mark to come back, or at least to tell Roger where he went and what he's doing. After a few minutes and none of these things happening, Roger gets up and moves across the floor. He listens at the door, making sure Mark isn't sitting in the living room adjusting the projector, before pushing it open just a creak and taking a peak.

The loft was completely dark, save the lights shining in from the street bellow, and one dim flicker bellow Mark's bedroom door. Roger sighs, making sure to close the door without a sound and going back to bed.

For once, Roger's thankful to have the bed all to himself.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It goes on for too long.

Roger starts to get anxious right before he goes to sleep. He puts it off for as long as possible, playing his guitar into the late night and not turning off the lights until he can't keep his eyes open anymore. Even when he does get to sleep, it hardly helps. He's woken up every few hours by the sounds of kicking and clawing and screaming for two rooms over.

Mark's nightmares have started up again.

Every time Roger is woken up by the nightmares he thinks of storming into the other room and demanding to know what the hell is wrong with Mark. Why is he putting himself and Roger through this? Why can't they just go back to how things were?

Then Roger thinks back to his hands clenching the basin of the sink as those feelings of guilt and sickness and self-hatred washed over him. He can't work up the courage to go to Mark.

Tonight Roger wakes up at the end of a particularly bad session. He knows by this time that he's not going to do anything about it, so instead he cover his ears with the pillow and starts chanting song lyrics under his breath. He tries not to think about Mark hurting himself. He tries not to picture the bruises that have been appearing on Mark's arms and legs from all the nightly fighting. He just lies there and waits until the sounds fade enough that he can take the pillow away from his face and breath.

Ten minutes later and Roger still can't sleep. He sighs when he swings himself out of bed, annoyed with Mark and himself and his damn self-control and wondering mind. He stubs his toe on the way out his door and nearly walks into a few walls before he can find the kitchen lights and blind himself.

This doesn't feel heroic, he thinks. It feels lame.

Still, when Roger's hand rests of the doorknob of Mark's room he's not entirely sure he can open the door. He waits for Mark to burst out of the room, crying and begging Roger to forgive him for being suck an idiot. Or maybe he's waiting to chicken out so that he can crawl back to his own room and go a few more weeks without a good night's sleep.

When Mark doesn't come to his rescue and Roger finds his feet unwilling to move backwards, he's force to crack open the door.

The first thing that hits him is the smell of sex. It's strong enough that Roger can almost taste it, and something tells him that last bout of noises he has been blocking out weren't nightmares.

"Who's there?"

Before Roger's eyes can adjust to the low glow of light leaking into the room from the kitchen, some one is sitting up in bed.

Someone with blonde hair cut short and in curls. Someone with the blankets held up over their chest. Someone with a feminine voice, calling out to the silhouette of Roger in the doorway. Someone who is not Mark.

Roger's first instinct is to growl. He doesn't try and repress it. "You must be Tina."

The girl in the bed lifts one hand away from her chest to brush away some hair that has fallen into her face. Roger can see the pinks of her make-up through the pale light. She really could have been a stripper, he figures. She has the body for it. She is probably swimming with diseases.

He swears to kill her if Mark has caught a single one.

"You're Roger." She has the gall to say it like she knows him. Roger's fist convolute, and he has to hold himself back.

"You two done in here?" He asks.

This girl, this Tina that Mark has lowered himself to, actually blushes. "You could hear us?" She asks.

Roger snorts. "You can hear everything through these walls," he says, tapping against the hard plaster. Mark starts to stir. "Look, if you're done, I think you should leave."

In the darkness, he can still make out Tina's frown. "Excuse me?"

Roger shrugs. "It's not like it's that hard to understand. You sleep with a guy, and then you leave. I'm sure you've done it before."

Tina says, "It's not like that."

Roger cringes at her words. It is exactly like that, he wants to tell her. It has to be. She just doesn't get it. Mark and him, they don't need anyone else looking out for them. They definitely don't need someone like her.

All Roger can manage to say is, "Whatever," before he leaves, slamming the door behind him.

While he stalks back to his room he can hear Mark waking up.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Tina told me what happened."

Roger is sitting on his bed, staring at the wall. Moment's before he had heard the front door close, and it had taken a lot out of him not to get up and follow Tina out to gloat.

Mark doesn't seem as ecstatic about the whole mess, though. "How could you say that to her?"

Roger doesn't bother to hold back all his distaste when he says, "Please. Have you even looked at her? She was just using you, Mark. You knew she would have left before morning, anyway."

"She's not like that!" Mark snaps. "It's not like that. What do you mean, she would have left?"

"That kind of girl?" Roger turns around on the mattress so that he can look Mark in the eyes. He wants the words to sting, and he wants to see them hurt. "Even Maureen was better than that. You must be beyond desperate to sink so low."

There's not enough time for Mark to think it over before he says, "Sorry. Not all of us are as high on the dating chain as druggies and strippers."

It's a low blow. "That was different!" Roger yells. It's a small miracle nothing has been thrown yet. Roger is close, poised on the bed and ready to jump if Mark tries dangling the bait again.

"How?" Mark yells back. "How is this any difference?"

There are a million ways that this is different. First off, it's Mark. "You know how, Mark."

"Is it because it's me with the girlfriend?" Roger winces. Amazing how perceptive the cameraman can be. "Is that it, Roger?"

"You had Maureen, didn't you?" Roger explodes. "It's not like you've never had a girlfriend before. I just don't trust this one, that's all."

"Because you were always so nice to Maureen." Mark is so frustrated he's started to pace. Roger watches him, leaning back onto the bed and pouting as Mark's anger pours out. "This has to stop, Roger. You have to stop being so... so..." Mark is waving his hands but he can't summon the words. "Just stop! Stop acting like you have any control over me. Stop acting like this is just some big brother act. For God's sake, get the fuck over the fact that Mimi left you and isn't coming back!"

Mark makes the mistake of screaming the last part in Roger's face. Roger's fist catches Mark in the jaw and sends the smaller man stumbling backwards. Roger's still huffing, but he doesn't do anything more. A good punch can usually stop these fights until later.

Roger's caught off guard when Mark charges, fists pounding into Roger's stomach and knocking him back. Roger still has the advantage. He's bigger, he's stronger, and he's got more anger built up. Mark's the reason he can't sleep at night, Mark doesn't understand that Roger is just trying to protect him, Mark won't get out of his fucking head.

Roger pushes Mark against the hard wall of the apartment. "Fuck you, Mark!" Mark who everyone just wants to protect, who Tina wants to love, who Roger just wants to forget and hold onto every night. "What do you know about anything?"

Before Mark can answer, Roger is grabbing his jacket and his guitar and storming out the door.

It's not like he needs Mark, anyway.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Roger waits until well after midnight to sneak back into the loft.

He figures that two days is enough that his roommate won't be waiting up for him. Still, when he carefully opens Mark's door and tiptoes across the bedroom floor, he knows it was pointless. The body in the bed is still and silent.

Part of Roger wants to turn around and pretend he is proud enough never to try this again. A large part of him is tired enough to admit he can't go another day like this.

When he's safely under the covers he whispers, "Mark?"

There is no answer. Roger winces. "Mark, are you asleep?"

The other boy sighs in frustration when it becomes obvious Roger isn't about to leave. "Roger..." It's a last, desperate attempt at a warning. It doesn't sound like Mark practically means it.

Roger says, "I can't sleep." It's not a lie. Roger's been lucky to get so much as three hours sleep in the last two days. "Can I stay here tonight?"

The mattress gives small moans of protest as someone shifts around. Roger can't see much of anything, but he can feel Mark's warm breath against his neck. Roger starts to relax, scooting himself slightly closer to the other body. "I can't sleep, either," Mark admits. Then he chuckles. It isn't as contagious as when he laughs for Collins, but it's still laughter. "We have to stop talking like this."

"At four in the morning?" Roger asks. He wonders if Mark would mind if he closed his eyes and just drifted to sleep. They could save everything else for morning.

Mark says, "That and... You know, some friends can talk without screaming at each other."

Roger has to wait until he's stopped yawning to answer. "It's different with us," he tells Mark. With them it's something that no one else can understand. Roger likes it that way. Now, if Mark would just shut up and let Roger close his eyes.

Mark does let Roger start to doze off. He doesn't stop his friend when Roger leans in against him, snuggling up to Mark like a three year old with an over stuffed bear. Mark's hands weave into Roger's hair, kneading circles against his scalp. Roger nuzzles against Mark's chest and thinks this is exactly how it should be. This is how their friendship should feel. Roger thinks that he wouldn't mind waking up like this. Doesn't mind Mark being in his bed, or him being in Mark's.

Mark hands don't get slower even when Roger feels ready to pass out. Before he can, Mark says, "I don't mind different."


	7. Smile In Your Sleep

**A/N: **_Did you know... _If you go to LJ (gildedmuse) and comment, I can talk back to you?  
Okay, so I really just like talking to other Rent fans and I only have like... three friends who are fans. Some needs to giggle with me over pictures of Anthony Rapp and share cute Rent icons.**  
**

**Touch and Tell Lullaby****  
Chapter VII: Smile In Your Sleep**

Roger holds onto Mark while he sleeps. It's way of making sure the other boy doesn't leave.

Recently, it seems like the only time Mark stops by the apartment is to sleep. He's out working on this film, or having lunch with Joanne, or helping Maureen get in character for this play. He's doing a million things, none of which involve his best friend. Roger is starting to get back in the swing of things, going to band practice every Wednesday and spending some time with old friends, but nothing like what Mark is doing. He spends too much time out and about, away from the loft. Roger is the one in need, not Tina or Maureen or Joanne, and every time one of the girls calls Mark away, Roger wants to scream.

When he tells Mark that he does too much, Mark just laughs and says, "Try telling that to Joanne, would you?" Then, of course, he doesn't get why Roger storms off.

Roger figures that if he can't stop Mark from having a life, he can make sure he's still there when Mark is asleep. These nights it's not two boys curled up in bed together to fight away nightmares and insomnia. These nights it's about possession. Roger keeps Mark pressed against him, arms wrapped in a vice around the smaller boy's waist, tight enough that every move wakes Roger up. It's not about helping each other. It's about making sure that Mark is there every morning.

Mark struggles at first; unable to get comfortable when Roger has him practically pinned to his side. After a while, he just gives up and relaxes against Roger. Mark seems to get how important it is to let Roger hold onto him. He let's Roger cling to him, and keeps his own arms around Roger's shoulders, not nearly as possessive but still proof that he has no intention of sneaking away.

Roger tells himself that it's nothing. It's all about safety, and there is nothing unusual about they way they spend all night tangled up in each other. It feels good to have Mark pressed against him, only because it means he's still there.

Roger refuses to call it cuddling, but that's what it feels like.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It gets easier to touch Mark when they're awake.

After April, Roger hated physical contact. There was a time when he didn't mind being at the center of a large crowd or letting girls brush up against him in the subway. After April - after he read that note and saw all that blood and knew - Roger hated touching. Not just with girls, but any sort of touching at all. It all reminded him of what he couldn't do anymore. No kissing. No sex. No love. All of that died with April.

Mimi had been a special case. With Mimi, Roger had wanted all of that stuff. He wanted to touch her and kiss her and love her, even if he still wouldn't allow anyone else to get close to him. He made an exception for Mimi. Not that touching her had kept her any closer to him in the end.

Roger swore off touching, but waking up every day with the same warm body in his arms, Roger starts to get use to the feel of Mark's skin. He finds it easy to slip back into habits he thought he'd lost. Tossing an arm around Mark's should, playful punching, leaning against each other on the couch. It's not intimate, just casual and friendly, but it's more than Roger's been able to do in a long time.

The first time it happens, Roger comes out of the shower and says "Morning," before ruffling Mark's hair. It's nothing he wouldn't have done a few years ago. It's just a simple, off the cuff sort of touch.

Mark fumbles with his camera, nearly dropping it before he can recover. "Roger, are you feeling all right?"

Roger dries his hair, tossing the towel into a corner. "Fine," he answer, sounding a bit annoyed. He hadn't done anything, and here Mark is already starting the motherly concern questions.

Mark still looks suspicious. "Okay, then." He picks up his camera and goes back to whatever he had been doing, and Roger leaves to get dressed. All day, Mark keeps a close eye on Roger.

It takes about a week for Mark to get use to their old habits. He stops jumping when Roger grabs the back of his neck and fidgeting every time Roger sits to close. After a while, Mark can pounce on Roger without being yelled at, and Roger can hold Mark whenever he wants.

It's nothing unusual, Roger tells himself. Just friendly touching. Just boys being boys.

There is still that fear of Mark leaving, but by now Mark seems comfortable in Roger's nightly death grip. Part of it is that he's figured out a way to get enough breathing room. With the care free touching, Mark isn't shy about running his hands down Roger's back, tickling the back of the other boy's neck and tracing down his spine. Roger can only take so much before he starts to fidget, and then Mark can nuzzle against his chest and go to sleep without worrying about suffocation.

Roger doesn't want to think about why he has to back away every time Mark touches him like that.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"That's the phone."

Roger wakes up to the sound of ringing from the next room, and Mark getting out of bed. Before the other boy can pull the covers all the way off, Roger has him in a vice. "We screen," Roger yawns, burying his face in Mark's hair. He doesn't know what time it is, but he can't get his eyes to open.

"It's Joanne." Mark sounds almost as tired as Roger, yet he pushes against Roger's chest, trying to twist out of the musician's arms. "Come on, I have to get the phone." Way too anxious to get that phone and get out of the loft, Roger thinks. Well, Joanne can wait until Roger is done with him.

"Stop that," Roger says. Mark is still keeps squirming, just enough to show that he wants to get out of bed without actually freeing himself from Roger's arms.

"Come on, Roger. Stop playing around." The phone is still ringing, and Mark still seems adamant to get it before Joanne hangs up. Still clinging to sleep and not able to fight any more, Roger sighs and drops his arms.

In the other room the answering machine says, "Speak!"

Mark jumps out of bed, running across the floor so quickly he doesn't even close the door on his way out.

"Hey, guys, it's Jo-"

"Joanne? It's Mark!"

Roger rolls over in bed, gravitating towards the warm covers Mark left behind. He can feel a morning erection against his stomach. Without even thinking, he's hand is dipping under the waistband of his boxers. It's been forever since he's hand the bed to himself in the morning. He is still in his twenties. It can't be healthy to go that long without any form of release.

"No, I was just in bed... Yeah... Well, it's not."

Even still hazed from sleep Roger can reach a rhythm pretty quickly. He feels hot and heavy and so ready in his own hand. There are no images in his head, just this feeling passing through his body.

In the other room, Mark sighs. "I'd rather not talk about it."

That sigh goes right through Roger. His body aches, remembering what it is like to have Mark struggling against him, the feel of Mark's fingers stroking his skin. He can imagine Mark's fingers dipping lower, the struggling more purposeful. In a few seconds he's thrusting into his hand, picturing all the things his best friend could be doing if he had just let the damn phone ring.

"She did... Well, I told you she could be like that. No, I didn't mean... I know, I was just saying. Right. You're right about that."

Roger's other hand slides down his thighs, brushing against the over sensitive skin, trying to mimic Mark's fingers. Just short of where Roger wanted them to be, teasing him.

"What? Oh, Tina."

Roger went ridged at the name, and this is all the time it takes for reality to set in. He jerks his hand out from under the covers so fats he nearly falls of the bed.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Not again.

"We sort of broke up."

Fuck. Roger digs his fingernails into his scalp, begging his erection to go away. Fuck, not again. He couldn't start on this again. Getting a hard-on when your friend touches you at night, Roger could explain that. Most of the guys he knows can get hard for anything, and with it being late at night and Marks gentle touches there is nothing weird about it. Jerking off to your best friend while he's in the other room chatting on the phone, Roger is pretty sure that is beyond explanation.

"You have to stop this, Roger," he tells himself. There has to be something wrong with him. He can't actually want to do this sort of stuff to Mark.

In the main room, Mark is still talking with Joanne. "It's not like that," he says again. "We just... It just didn't work it. It's all right, Joanne. I'm all right."

Roger rifles through the piles of clothes strewn around the floor until he finds the baggiest pair of pants he owns. They might have been Benny's at one point, and probably haven't been washed since the other man left. Roger doesn't care. He pulls them on and starts looking for a shirt that still fits. He needs to get out more. Maybe being cooped up in this loft is doing things to Roger.

"You don't want to fuck him," Roger mutters, saying it out loud so that he can really hear the words. There were a lot of people Roger wants to sleep with, and none of them are Mark. For starters, Roger isn't like that. Even if he was, Mark meant too much to him. You don't sleep with people you care for that much.

To the phone, Mark says, "I know. I'll be careful. I've lived with him for years, Joanne. I can handle it. Talk... No, I'm fine... No, he's not... Yes, I'm... Talk to you later, Joanne. Tell Maureen good luck for me."

Roger picks up his guitar and any random sheets of music he can find in the room. Mark comes in seconds later, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees Roger standing there, dressed and ready to leave. "You're out of bed?" There's a mix of surprise and disappointment in Mark's voice.

The sight of Mark standing in his boxers, looking mused and still half asleep is certainly enough to make Roger want to crawl back under the covers with him.

He looks away as quickly as possible, busy himself with packing up his amp. Anything to keep his eyes of his best friend. "I'm going to go practice with the band."

"I thought you guys practiced on Wednesday." Mark sounds more worried than confused.

"Tony can't meet that night," Roger lies. He doesn't know what he'll do on Wednesday, but anything is better than sticking around the loft right now. Roger needs to get out, clear his head, screw a girl.

"Oh," Mark looks over his shoulder into the living room, and then back to Roger. "Did you hear me on the phone?"

"About Tina?" Mark is still standing the doorway and Roger really doesn't want to brush by him right then. "It's not because of me, is it?"

Roger tells himself he doesn't want it to be because of him. Still, when Mark shakes his head he can't help but be disappointed. Damn it. "We just... We didn't have much in common."

"Didn't like her anyway." It has nothing to do with Mark, Roger tells himself. He just doesn't like Tina, and she isn't good enough for Mark. "Anyway, I have to go. Be back late. Don't bother waiting up."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"What's up with you?"

Roger swallows the last bit of his beer before he answers. He shakes the cup into his mouth, buying himself as much time as possible. "What do you mean?" It would help if he were at a club. He might have been able to pretend he couldn't hear Mathias over the loud, pulsing music if they were at Dive or The Cat Scratch. Tonight has been hard enough without having to answer questions about his mood.

It's three o'clock in the morning. The band is hanging around a crappy bar off Ninth Street, and there is no way for Roger to fake deafness. The loudest thing in the room is Jarred and Tony flirting with a group of girls over the pool table.

A blonde haired girl keeps looking at Roger. Every time she turns around Roger takes another drink. Mathias looks between the girl and Roger. "You haven't had anyone out back since April." The blonde with the bright blue eyes smiles at Roger. He orders another beer.

"It's been three years," Roger says. The girl twists her hair around one finger, still smiling. One of her friends has to nudge her to get her attention back to the game. "Besides, she didn't seem to mind."

Mathias puts a hand up to stop Roger from taking another sip. "You need to breath between beers."

Mathias is the most responsible of the band members. He has a fiancé and a two year old. He doesn't have a single-track line on his arm. The rest of the band trusted Mathias to get them home when they were trashed after a gig, and to let them crash at his place if they can't make it that far.

"Is this about the girl you were seeing?" Mathias asks, ordering Roger a coffee. Roger isn't nearly that drunk. He wants to get to the point where he can't see straight, where his mind just shuts down. He's not even half way there. "The one with the eyes?"

Mimi. Roger doesn't want to think about her. If she hadn't left he wouldn't have to be alone with Mark. If she hadn't left, he wouldn't be fucking nameless blonde girls up against alleyways with his eyes open in case his mind starts to wander.

"Whoever it is, you can't just sit around and pout over her," Mathias says. He takes the beer away from Roger and takes a drink. "Are you afraid to ask her out? Listen, back when I first saw Linds, I didn't think someone that fucking beautiful would even look at a piece of shit like me. You remember me back then, Rog? I was an asshole. But, you know, we have Ash now. If she's really cool, she love you anyway, Roger."

The blonde is still smiling at Roger. He sighs, burring his fingers in his hair and leaning forward over the bar. He doesn't close his eyes. Every time he tries all he can think about it Mark.

"It's not that easy, Matt." Roger can't explain. He can't even explain it to himself. He knows he loves Mark, but there is no way in hell he wants Mark. They're like family. Mark thinks of Roger like a brother, and now Roger's got this fucked up idea in his head that he can't seem to get ride of.

Mathias shrugs and drinks more of Roger's beer. "You need to get over it, Roger. Shit happens to people every day. The only thing that makes life worth it is taking chances." He twists the ring Lindsey had given him around his finger. Roger looks over at his friend, at the look of utter contentment on his face when he watched his reflection in the silver band. It's crazy to think Roger will ever have that. He's already had his share of risks for this life. "Maybe she loves you, you know, and you just don't know."

"Fuck off," Roger mutters. He can't stand listening to any more of Mathias's stupid thoughts about love and life. What the fuck does he know about Roger, anyway? Roger doesn't even know anything about himself at this point. "I'm leaving." He scowls at the blonde when she puts down the cue and starts walking over to the bar.

Mathias isn't put off by Roger's growling. He slaps the guitarist on the back. "Cool. Just remember, dude. Even an angst filled musician such as yourself deserves some happiness."

Roger nods, but he doesn't really believe it.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Roger gets back to the apartment at a quarter to four, and the first thing he hears when he walks through the door is the sound of someone being beaten to death.

Without thinking, Roger sets down his things and hurries into the bedroom.

Mark is in bed, and the covers are on the floor. Half drunk and not thinking about his earlier resolution to avoid Mark, Roger sits down next to him, pulling Mark into his arms.

"'Sokay," Roger slurs, fingers playing with Mark's hair as he rocks them back and fourth until the flaying stops.

Mark yawns, eyelids fluttering open. It takes him a while before he conscious enough to talk. The first thing he says is, "Roger?"

"Yeah," Roger answers. He doesn't let go of Mark and he doesn't stop swaying.

Mark turns so that he can almost see Roger's face. He rests his head against Roger's shoulder. "You smell like club."

"Me and the guys went to get a few drinks after practice." Roger smells like alcohol and nicotine and sex. He smells like anything that would take his mind of Mark.

It worked so well that here he is, in bed with his arms wrapped around Mark.

"Oh," Mark murmurs. He yawns again, one hand coming up to hold onto Roger's collar. His fingers rub gentle circles into the skin above Roger's shirt. "I didn't wait up for you."

Roger smirks. "I can see that." The two keep swaying in the silence and darkness for a bit longer before Roger asks, "Mark?"

"Mmm?"

"If I asked, would you tell me?"

The body in his arms goes completely still.

Mark pulls away from Roger so that they're no longer touching. Roger can still feel the heat from Mark's body. He wants to lean into it, but he knows better. "They're about a lot of stuff."

"Oh," Roger frowns. He hadn't been expecting that. He hadn't expected to ask Mark at all. It seems like the sort of private thing Roger shouldn't get to know about. Still, he asks, "Like what?"

"Drowning." Mark is fidgeting. Roger can't see it, but he can hear the bed creak under Mark's small, constant movements. "My sister... She almost drowned once, and I tried to save her... Well, I'm a lot smaller than Cynthia. But those... That was a long time ago. I'm over it."

"And now?" Roger asks, because something is telling him that it's important to know.

"And now," Mark echoes back, "they're different."

"Oh." Roger doesn't know what else to say. His mind is still cloudy from too many drinks and too many thoughts about Mark. His almost little brother who Roger is meant to protect, but who is always looking out for him. It's been a long time since Mark was some eighteen year old, small town boy who needed Roger to get around. Still, Roger hates needing someone who doesn't need him back. He thinks he should still be able to take care of Mark.

He doesn't know what to do, so he just goes with his first instinct. He leans forward and kisses Mark.

"What was that?" In the dark, Mark's face is too shadowed to make out much, and Roger can't tell if he's confused or angry.

Roger bites his lip and wonders if maybe he should go back to the bar, get a few more drinks before he tries to explain. "When I was little, my mom use to kiss my every time I got scared." Roger doesn't know why he's telling this to Mark. He never talks about his childhood, not even with his best friend. In the dark, with Mark's warm body heat washing over him and his thoughts running slow, it's easy to tell Mark all of this. "Whenever I would cry she'd say that all I needed was a good kiss. It's suppose to, you know, fight away the fear."

"Your mom use to kiss you on the lips?" Mark definitely sounds confused. Roger thinks it's endearing. Like when Mark was brand new to the city and still needed Roger for everything.

"It's dark," Roger says, getting a little defensive. Here he is sharing childhood memories and Mark is getting picky about kiss placement. "I missed."

Wither Mark believes him or not he says, "Well... Um... Thanks."

The bed starts creaking again. Roger reaches out, hands groping around the sheets looking for his friend. "Mark?" His voice creaks over the word.

He nearly collapses in relief when his hands brush against warm skin. "I'm going to bed," Mark says. Sure enough, Roger can feel Mark lying down next to him.

"Oh," Roger doesn't know what to say. He can feel his face heating up. "I was just..."

"Afraid I was leaving?" Mark asks. Roger chews at his lower lip. Of course he's afraid of Mark leaving him, but he doesn't want to say that. Mark doesn't need to know exactly how much Roger needs him.

There's more shuffling and noise as the bed moves about. Roger nearly jumps out of his skin when a pair of soft lips presses against his. Mark's kiss is gentle and chaste, but that doesn't stop Roger from wanting to moan into and press closer. He goes ridged until Mark pulls back, and Roger can relax without his body jumping at the chance to do something stupid.

"There," Mark says.

Roger coughs before he can speak properly. "What?"

"You don't have to be afraid any more, Roger." Roger can feel himself being tugged down into bed. He shouldn't let Mark get so close to him, not while his mind is so confused and Mark is so warm. Roger needs time and space to think, to clear his head and get over what ever it is that is wrong with him. But Mark's arms are around his waist, his friend is pressed against his side, and Roger's exhausted from trying not to think about this. It can't hurt, to just stay this one night. After this Roger is going to stop being such an idiot. After this, he is never going to touch Mark again. He promises himself that it will all change tomorrow.

Tonight, though, he'd let Mark hold him.


	8. In Dreams I Wander

**Touch and Tell Lullaby**  
**Chapter VIII: In Dreams I Wander**

The first time it happens it's completely Mark's fault.

Roger wakes up to an empty bed. Roger doesn't worry. He knows Mark will always come back to him. He's finally starting to remember that.

So he takes his time climbing out of bed, yawning as he pads across the room in search of jeans and a shirt. The bedroom has gotten a little cleaner since Mark moved back in. This makes it nearly impossible for Roger to find anything.

He manages to pull a shirt out from a pile of clothes pushed into a corner. He takes a whiff, trying to judge if it's clean enough to wear. He takes a few more small sniffs at the fabric. He pulls the shirt back and breaths in as deep as he can.

Something is burning.

"Mark?" Roger pulls the shirt over his head and wanders towards the main room of the loft. He keeps smelling the air to make sure the scent of flames isn't just a delusion. "Mark? What's th-? Oh, shit!"

Roger opens his door and chokes on a lung full of smoke. He waves his hand in front of his face to clear some room to breathe. His other hand holds the collar of his shirt to his mouth and nose. "Mark?" He asks, or at least tries to through his coughing fit. "Mark? What the hell is going on?"

"Roger!" Mark is standing over what looks like the charred remains of their hot plate. He looks like a child caught playing in with his parent's china. "You're awake?"

"You're burning down the building?" Roger shots back. Mark is blurred by the tears clinging to his lashes, but he can still make out his friend's embarrassed look.

"I was trying to make breakfast," Mark explains. He offers a sheepish smile as an apology. "I think I might have over done it."

Roger pokes the black lump sitting on top of the plate's coils. "What was is suppose to be?" He asks. It's a fair question. Whatever Mark had been attempting to make is burned well past recognition.

Mark shakes the hot plate and the whole blackened chunk falls over. Roger can make out faint traces of tomato in the air. "Ravioli," Mark says.

Roger chuckles. "Breakfast of champions."

"I think I might have blown the power, as well." Mark nudges the long extension chord snaking through the loft with the tip of his shoe.

Roger walks to the wall and flicks the switch. Nothing happens. Mark groans, covering his face with his hands. "Sorry."

The air in the loft is gray and thick with the scent of burnt pasta. Mark is apologizing over the blackened lump that was once the boy's only cooking appliance. The power is completely gone. Roger isn't sure why, but he can't help but laugh.

Mark peeks through his fingers, watching Roger fall against the wall. He ends up bent over nearly in half, slowly sinking down the wall as his arms wrap around his stomach to hold onto his aching sides. Mark puts his hands on his hips. "What's so funny?"

Roger struggles to inches himself up the wall so that he doesn't fall over. "What were you thinking?" He asks, shaking his head at the scene in front of him. "You could have set the whole building on fire."

Mark shrugs, his fingers unconsciously fiddling around like he's holding his camera. It's one of those things he does when he's embarrassed and would rather be hidden from view. "I thought it be nice to have a hot breakfast before work, you know?"

Roger snorts. "Because the best way to show up to work is without eyebrows." He chuckles when Mark actually runs his fingers over his forehead. Mark is starting to look worried, and not about the condition of his face. It's been a while since he's seen his roommate so happy.

Roger, still shaking a bit, grabs the trash and walks over to the hot plate. He unplugs it and pushes the whole mess in the can. "There. That should keep you safe."

Mark picks his camera bag off the table, tossing it over one shoulder. "My hero." He leans forward and plants a quick kiss on Roger's cheek. "I've got to go. Jesse's gonna get pissed if I'm late again."

"Right," Roger says, but Mark is already gone, leaving behind a very confused roommate. Had Mark actually just kissed Roger goodbye, or had he imagined that. He isn't entirely sure which he'd prefer. He's even less sure of what he should do now. Should he ignore it? Should he have kiss Mark back? Should he check to make sure nobody slipped something into his AZT?

Roger falls into the nearest chair, eyes going back and fourth between the door and the trash, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. One minute he is teasing Mark for being such an idiot and the next Mark is kissing him goodbye. It's not exactly normal best friend behavior.

A nasty little voice in Roger's head reminds him that it's been a long time since Mark and him have done anything that would qualify as normal best friend behavior. Of course, most of it is Roger's fault. Mark isn't the one who has to hold Roger when he sleeps. Mark isn't the one jerking off to images of his best friend.

Roger moans, burying his head in his hands. He'd just as soon not think about it, and maybe it will all just go back to normal.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

There are plenty of things that are easier than thinking about Mark.

One of them is kissing him.

Not romantic kisses. There are no teeth and tongue and hot, sweaty bodies rubbing against one another. It's just quick lips-to-cheek or lips-to-forehead or, when Roger's feeling extremely brave, lips-to-lips, but even those are chaste and hurried. They have to be quick and casual, or else Roger ends up imagining all those things - teeth and tongue and hot, sweaty bodies rubbing against one another - and has to excuse himself from the room before he does something stupid.

There is a part of Roger that insists it can't be normal, kissing your best friend like that. When had Collins ever kissed Roger good night? When did Benny ever need to kiss Mark before going to work? But all these thoughts are guaranteed to vanish the second Mark is leaning in, gently pressing his lips against Roger. It never lasts more than a second, but that's all it takes to scramble Roger's thoughts.

Somewhere in the middle of all this kissing, Roger starts to figure a few things out.

First is that he almost always smiles when Mark smiles. There's something addictive about the way Mark grins, a little lopsided a goofy looking but sweet and addictive nonetheless. Maybe Roger should worry that he's started doing things just to make Mark happy, just so Mark will smile like that for him.

Second is that Mark has the cutest pout. Mark will sit on the couch, huddled over his camera as he works out shots in his head, and the ends of his lips will turn downward. He'll worry his lower lip, moving the camera this way and that in his hands. After a while, he'll look up at Roger, squinting his eyes behind the thick rims of his glasses. "Stuck on a song?" He asks, and Roger goes back to playing his guitar, because it's easier than answering, "Staring at you."

Third is that Mark's body seems to fall next to Roger's naturally. It's not just when they're in bed together. It's sitting on the couch, the way Mark can lean against him and Roger can put an arm around his neck. It's pushed together in the subway with Roger holding on to the bar and Mark with one hand on his camera and the other on Roger's shoulder. It's the way they could have been crammed into a box and still managed to get comfortable.

Fourth is that there is something wrong with Roger. Not all those obvious things like AIDs and mood swings and all the mistakes he's made in the past. There's something more.

Normal guys don't pay that much attention to their best friend's lips.

Normal guys don't have the urge to hold and lean against their best friend whenever possible.

Normal guys don't get hard-ons every time their best and very male friend brushes against them or smiles at them or laughs.

It's just a phase, Roger tells himself. He spends time out of the loft, time with girls and other guys and anyone who isn't Mark, but it's not the same. Maybe if he just ignores it will go away. Maybe if they just act normal Roger will get over this whole mix up where he thinks he actually wants Mark.

Still, there are plenty of things easier than figuring out what's wrong with him.

One of them is kissing Mark.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"And for the director of The Public Theater for finally recognize my talent, and Pookie for-"

"We get it, Maureen."

Thanksgiving has rolled around and the gang has gathered at the loft to celebrate. Joanne and Maureen brought the food, some pick up from a nearby deli. Collins brought the drinks, and there were already a number of empty wine bottles spread out over the boy's floor. Mark and Roger, well, they tried squashing as many of the cockroaches as they could and stole some chairs from an outdoor café in preparation.

Maureen decided to start to toast, which Roger judges to have been going on for about ten minutes now. There's only so much of Maureen's constant thankfulness that he can take before he feels ready to snap.

Joanne steps in before Roger and Maureen ruin the meal for the rest of the table. She lays a gentle hand against her girlfriend's shoulder. "Maybe you should let someone else go, Honey-bear."

Maureen cross her arms over her chest and pouts. It's over dramatic and not at all as sweet as Mark's, but Roger stops himself from telling her this. "I'm not done yet."

Roger rolls his eyes. "We get it. You have a girlfriend, a job, and are really fucking pretty." All of this pretty much wraps up Maureen's little speech. "Can we move on now?"

Someone places a quick kick to Roger's shin. Roger growls across the table at Mark, who is doing a wonderful job at not looking at Roger. "Well," Mark says, before Maureen can think up a comeback. "I'm thankful for this wine." He holds up his plastic cup.

"I'll drink to that," Collins agrees, tapping their glasses together. Roger joins in, all three boys quickly drowning the rest of their drink.

Before anyone else can pick up on the toast, there is a knock on the door. "That's probably Toby. He lent me his amp," Roger explains. He leans across the table and kisses Mark on the forehead before grabbing Toby's equipment and hurrying to answer the door.

Toby is standing in the hallway, rubbing his hands together for warmth. The whole building is going through another cold spell, same as every winter. "Here you go," Roger says, handing the other guitarist his amp as the loft door swings shut. The boy nods his thanks.

"It work for you, man?" Toby reminds Roger a lot of himself from a few years ago. He's constantly pulling his sleeves down over his arms. Roger knows exactly what he's trying to hide.

"Worked fine," Roger says. "Nice quality."

"Wanna buy it?" Toby asks. He's almost jumping around the floor, continuously shifting his small amount of weight from one foot to the next. Roger wonders if he ever made Mark sick when he did that. "I can sell it cheap."

Roger knows exactly where that money would go. "Don't have the flow," he answers. Mark's got this script he's trying to film, so any money he has goes towards that. Roger's band doesn't pull in enough for any extra cash on the side. Besides, he doesn't really need the new amp. His last one blew a few fuses after the hot plate incident, but he's sure he can figure out how to fix it.

"You sure, man?" Toby asks. His eyes are blood shot, the bags under them so dark they make him look like he's wearing a mask. "I'm not asking much."

"I swear, Toby, I've got nothing." Roger holds up his hands as if to show how broke he is. One look at Roger's clothes should pretty much answer that question. "Look, I've gotta go. See you around."

"Yeah, see ya." Roger sighs, shaking his head as Toby turns and almost crashes into the stairs. He wasn't even that dumb when he was using, he tells himself. He wasn't ever desperate enough to sell his equipment.

Back inside, Joanne is saying, "That's not norm-"

Mark looks up from his hands when the loft door squeaks open. "Roger!" He practically shouts, almost jumping out of his seat when Roger walks in.

Roger smiles, but most of his holiday cheer is starting to wear away. "So, where were we?"

He pretends not to notice the looks everyone exchanges. "Err... Maureen was just going over her list," Mark says after a seconds pause.

Maureen smiles, leaning across her chair to hug Joanne. "I was just saying how lucky I am to have a girlfriend like Pookie whose totally out to her parents and me and herself and-"

"We get it, Maureen!" Mark snaps. Roger glances over at his best friend who has turned a bright shade of pink. He cocks an eyebrow to ask what's up. Mark is usually the one telling Roger not to be rude.

Mark purposely avoids Roger's eyes. "Maybe someone else should go."

Joanne clears her throat after another awkward silence. "I'm thankful for my job," she says. "And for my Honey-bear, of course." Her and Maureen exchange a quick, loving smile. Roger pretends to gag, and Mark has to turn his laughter into a fake sounding cough when Maureen glares at him.

Joanne just smiles and says, "Next?"

Collins raises his glass. "Well, I'm thankful for good friends," he says, holding his cup up to each individual. Roger and Mark both toast him back. "And the family we have patched together with patience and love."

The rest of the gang echoes, "To love." Across the table, Mark still refuses to meet Roger's eyes.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Kind of chilly out here, isn't it?"

Roger turns around, smiling as Collins walks out onto the fire escape. He kicks himself up so that he's sitting on the railing. Collins joins him, rubbing his hands together for heat.

"I guess," Roger answer. It's cold enough that his breath comes out in puffs of white, but the night air feels good. At least he's out of the loft, where Maureen has convinced Mark to listen to every detail of her audition. Mark has always been a push over when it comes to Maureen.

Collins crosses his arms and leans against the railing. Roger turns his head upwards, looking at the light polluted sky. "You know, I never saw stars until that trip to Santa Fe."

Collins follows Roger's eyes. "Yet you came back to us and our electronic blue night sky."

"They weren't that great," Roger answers. His entire trip had been spent missing New York. No amount of clean air could have changed that.

"The movements of stars supplied the early civilization with their first glimpse into mathematics," Collins explains. "Some cultural thought that every light in the sky represented another world that revolved around Earth."

Roger looks back down at Collins. "Very 'we are not alone', huh?"

Collins smiles. "Even on a planet filled with more population than it can handle, we still feel isolated."

Bellow them 11th Street is filled with people who have nothing to be thankful for. "I know the feeling," Roger answers. "Sometimes the people you're with every day, they make you feel alone, and you just want to be the center of someone universe."

"But you came back," Collins says, still staring up at the dark blue sky like he's trying to figure something out.

Roger shrugs, as if was no big deal coming back to this place. In reality, he didn't have much of a choice. "Better things here."

Collins stops gazing at the starless heavens to look straight into Roger's eyes, searching for the answers he couldn't find in the sky. "Like Mark?"

Roger ignores the way his stomach twists up. "Stretches of deserts, dusty bars off dirt roads, not one single person accusing me of being a demon sent to kill their dog. It's not exactly my kind of scene."

Collins laughs, holding onto the bar as he stretches his back out. One the street a man is shouting at someone to stop taking a piss on his tires. Collins asks, "Did I ever tell you how I figured out I liked boys?"

Roger shakes his head. He's afraid to ask where this is headed. Collins isn't one to talk about the small things. With him, there is always a bigger picture. "I always figured you just knew." Because it seems to Roger that Collins knows almost everything.

Collins smiles and shakes his head. "Angel, she said she just knew. She told me her first memory was of her parents going out. Looking between her mother's beautiful, satin dress to her father's tuxedo... She said she knew right then she wouldn't be caught dead in what her father was wearing." Collins's laugh is mostly melancholy. Everything about Collins has this slight sorrowful taint to it since Angel's death, but that never stopped Collins from smiling. He's not like Roger who shut himself in the loft and tore up anything he could get his hands on. Collins never stopped living.

"Angel," he says, "She could be herself so easily. That girl..." Collins chuckles, as if some memory of his boyfriend is playing over in his head. "That girl had spirit in her." Now it's Collins who is staring into the sky like he expects to see stars. "It's not that easy for all of us."

Roger can't say anything. He always feels like he's being himself, unsure and destructive. The question is wither being himself has ever helped Roger. Collins leans back forward on the railing. "You and Mark seem close."

"I guess," Roger answers, not really thinking over Collins question. His friend keeps looking at him, as if he expects more than that. There is plenty Roger could say about how close he's been getting to Mark, how close he finds himself wanting to be with Mark, but he can't tell any of that to Collins. "I don't know." It's honest, at least.

Collins stands up. He pats Roger on the shoulder, giving a reassuring smile. "You need to figure it out," he says. "Before both of you end up hurt."

Roger nearly falls backwards off of the railing. He's staring at Collins like his friend has suddenly gone mad. In fact, Roger's pretty sure he's the one whose gone insane, and Collins is just the first to notice. "What do you mean?"

"You have to ask yourself," Collins says, already heading back inside the loft. Roger can see Maureen and Joanne hugging Mark goodbye. "Can you take the risk?" He stops right before he goes back in, turning around to meet Roger's eyes. His friend's face is more serious than Roger has seen him in a long while. "We don't have all the time in the world, Roger."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"I'll never eat again."

Roger laughs, watching Mark fall back into bed with a groan. "You have to stop gorging like that," Roger teases. "Collins thinks I'm starving you." It's not a hard impression to get. Mark is way too thin, but then he's always been a little on the scrawny side. Every time anyone brings food to the loft, Mark eats like a starving man.

"They're trying to kill me," Mark moans. "They want to see how much food it takes before I explode."

"No one made you eat that third helping," Roger reminds him. "Or two slices of pie."

Mark lifts his head off the mattress just enough that he can glare at Roger. "You're suppose to stop me."

Roger is sitting cross-legged on top of the blankets, watching over Mark. He's mind is still trying to figure out how Collins knows.

Is he really that obvious? Roger has made an effort to get out of the apartment, to spend time around people that weren't Mark, and yet Collins still figured it out.

It's not just friendship and almost brotherhood that keeps bringing him back to Mark. It's not just safety and habit that keep them together. Roger is finally starting to figure that out. He has no idea when it happened or why the fuck it had to be with his best friend, but there is no denying that Roger Davis is actually attracted to Mark Cohen. It's quite possibly the stupidest thing he's ever done.

"I think I'm going to pass out," Mark says, trying to wiggle under the covers. Roger refuses to move, and since most of the crumbled blankets are under him, Mark eventually just gives up.

"As long as you don't throw up," Roger answers. Mark groans again, pulling his shirt up so that he can pop the button of his pants. Roger can almost count his ribs. A small line of light blonde hair travels down from his bellybutton to disappear under the waistline of his jeans. There's a nasty part of Roger that wants to slide his hand along that trail.

Mark's eyes are already closed. "Goinaeep?" He asks, words distorted when he yawns half way through his sentence.

Roger says, "In a bit." He just wants to wait until Mark is a sleep. He just wants a little time to clear his head.

"Mm'kay," Mark murmurs, already drifting off.

Mark is Roger's little brother in their patched together version of the modern American family. He means more, has always meant more, to Roger than he can admit to himself. You don't go fucking up that kind of relationship with things like sex and commitment. Besides, how would Mark take it? "By the way, you know how we've been sleeping together all these nights. Yeah, well it turns out that every time I jerk off I can't think of anything but you. Just thought you should know."

Collins told Roger that he's going to hurt Mark. Roger would like to believe that he is incapable of hurting his best friend, but he knows himself better than that.

After a few minutes of listening to Mark's even breathing he turns off the light. He tucks the covers in around Mark before sliding under them himself. His pillow goes between the two boys. They're close, but they can't touch. That's they way it should be, Roger thinks. That's they way he's going to have to make it.

There are some things worth risking. Mark isn't one of them.


	9. The Cradle Will Rock

**Author's Note:** You know how I said there would only be nine chapters? I lied. Ten it is. So, when you get to the ending of this on and think, "God, taht ending was crappy" it's because it is not the finale. Just so you know.

**Touch and Tell Lullaby  
****Chapter IX: The Cradle Will Rock****  
**

Roger decides that what he needs to do is to stop touching Mark.

All Roger has to do is act like everything is normal, like when they first became friends. Thinking back, all he remembers is wrestling Mark to the floor to grab the camera out of his hands, sitting on Mark's lap on an over crowded subway, passing out on the bed together after a night of drinking, showing Mark how shotgunning worked. All this before Roger had even been attracted to Mark.

He has to get over this before he does something stupid. All it will take is to stop touching Mark, stop spending so much time with him, stop wanting him so bad. Roger's infamous for all different types of addictions. Getting over this obsession with Mark should be just like getting over heroin. Cut yourself off from all temptation until you stop shaking for withdraw.

The thing is heroin can't smile at you. Heroin doesn't stretch out over the bed, brushing against you all night. Heroin never kisses you goodbye or tickles the back of your neck or lies out across your lap.

The thing is part of Roger doesn't want to get over Mark. Roger, he never feels whole unless he's with someone and Mark, well, he certainly someone. Every time he lets his thoughts go there he has to remind himself about what Collins said, about them getting hurt. Roger doesn't want to break Mark like he broke Mimi and April. He doesn't want Mark to freak out and abandon him if he found out about Roger's obsession.

So now that he knows he has a problem he just has to work towards sobriety. This means no kissing, no hugging, no snuggling, no touching of any kind. It's just a week, he tells himself. If he can do this for a week everything will be fine. He'll forget all about this "crush" he has on his best friend. He can go a week without doing anything too drastic.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The brick is cold and scratches at Roger's palms. His shoes are buried in snow, or what use to be snow and is now brown and gray mush that sinks into clothes and numbs the skin. The night wind is biting, pushing the temperature bellow zero and scaring saner individuals inside. Roger is burning up.

It's outside of The Pyramid, and Roger has this boy slammed against the wall of the alley with their lips smashed together. He's pouring out all the frustration from a week of biting down on his cheek to stop himself from touching Mark and a dozen cold showers when Mark doesn't stop touching him. This kiss is all tongue and heat and teeth and possession. Roger isn't looking for sex. He's looking for an outlet.

This boy who made the mistake of smiling at Roger when he got off stage, he's being pushed against the bricks hard enough to bruise. "It's cold." Roger bites down on the boy's earlobe hard enough to make him jump. Once he's done whimpering he says, "Maybe we should go inside."

Roger is using more teeth than lips as he works his way down the kid's jaw. "Shut up," he growls before yanking down this other boy's pants. With Roger's hands between his legs, the guy stops complaining.

This bleached blond Roger has dragged into the back alley, his hair is just a little too long. His eyes are too dark. His face is too pinched. His body is too lean. As far as Roger's concerned, he's not even that good looking. Yet here he is with his fist around this boy's bits. "Faster, babe, faster," the boy moan, and Roger wants to tell him to shut up. With his eyes closed, this heat in his hands could be anyone. If only this stupid, blond kid would stop talking and just enjoy the ride.

This isn't what Roger intended. This is suppose to be a test, just to see if Roger can get past the whole liking boys' thing without laying one hand on his best friend. He isn't meant to wind up leaning against the guy, eyes shut and Mark's name on his lips.

It doesn't take long for this boy to starts moving faster, bucking uncomfortably. Minutes later he's screaming and spilling all over Roger's hand.

Roger rubs the mess off onto the other boy's shirt. Through half hooded eyes the blond stares down at Roger's crotch. He licks his lips and asks, "Want some help there."

Roger doesn't want to take the chance of what his imagination will do with this guy's hand down his pants. "I'm not gay," he explains. Despite the fact that he's just given a hand job to some random fan, despite the fact that Roger can't go more than a few hours without thinking of a certain boy, he can't be gay. It's fine for Collins and Angel and Joanne, but Roger has had girlfriends. He can't be gay, because that would mean that he really wants Mark as much as it feels like he does.

The blond just smiles and leans in. One of his hands runs down Roger's sides, cupping him through his jeans. Roger moans and arches into the touch. "Fine with me," the boy replies. He's licking Roger's jaw. The hot spit freezes to his face the moment the guy moves away. "It doesn't have to mean anything."

This blond kid with his eyebrow pierced and his nose too long and his forehead not high enough, he'll never mean anything to Roger. "No offense. You're just not what I'm looking for," Roger says. A sort of ill feelings washes over him as he releases what it is he's doing in this back alley. He shakes his head and pulls the boy's hand away from his body.

Roger is already moving down the street, away from yet another mistake. "No offense, but you're just not my type."

Roger can't say it, but he's just not Mark.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The first thing Roger notices when he gets to the loft is that the whole place smells like autumn.

There are a number of dishes set out on the table. Roger sets his equipment down and wanders over to take a look. Three small plastic tubs filled with yams, green beans, and some brownish gunk Roger isn't sure is safe to eat. In the middle of the table is a pot filled with some sort of stew. It reminds him of things his mother use to cook around Halloween and Thanksgiving

He dips his finger into the sweet potatoes. It's cold, but still taste fine. Roger tears open a pack of plastic spoons and digs out a chunk of the orange sweet. "Mark?" He stuffs the spoon full of yams in his mouth and walks over to his bedroom. There's no one there. "Hey, Mark, you here?" He yells, spitting out chunks of food. He swallows down the rest of the potatoes, eyes watering as the huge lump works down his throat. Around the coughing he manages to crock, "Mark?"

Roger hits himself in the chest a few times to clear his airway. Out of the corner of his eye he catches movement.

Mark is curled up on their sofa, arms wrapped around a pillow tight enough to strangle it. Roger grabs another spoon full of sweet potatoes before carefully making his way across the loft to kneel down at Mark's side.

It's weird to see Mark asleep without Roger and not beat himself up over nightmares. All his energy, it seems, is devoted to protecting this pillow. His whole body is curled around it, arms shaking from the strength of the grip he has it in. If it weren't for the small whimpers and moans being stifled by the pillow, it would have almost been peaceful.

"Hey, Mark, wake up." Roger gives his friend a shake, and Mark just snores and kicks away. Rolling his eyes, Roger tries again, a little harder this time. "Mark! Mark! You awake?"

Mark groans, but opens his eyes. He squints, trying to focus on Roger's face. The pillow drops to the floor when Mark reaches up to brush the sleep from his face. "Roger? You back?"

"No," Roger rolls his eyes. He brushes some of the hair off of Mark's forehead. "This is the ghost of Christmas past."

When Mark yawns he looks adorable. Roger wonders if maybe he should start that program that some junkies do, the snapping a rubber band around your wrist every time you think about alcohol or drugs. Only he'd do it every time he had the urge to kiss Mark. Of course, that meant Roger's hand would be a mangled, red stomp in less than two weeks. "Fuck off," Mark mutters, nuzzling against the couch. Roger picks the forgotten pillow of the floor and holds it out to Mark.

"You want your teddy bear?" He teases, shaking the small throw pillow in front of his friend's face.

Without opening his eyes, Mark shoves the pillow out of Roger's hand. Roger laughs and throws it back at him. Mark moans, rolling onto his side so that he can look up at Roger. "You didn't tell me you had a show tonight."

The playful mood is killed pretty quickly. Roger goes red and looks down at the worn fabric of the couch, picking at a few of the loose threads. "It wasn't a big deal. There was hardly any one there." Honestly, Roger can't stand to have Mark around too much. It's like sticking a heroin addict in the room with a mountain of needles. Besides, Mark really didn't need to know about Roger's after party.

Without any hesitation, Mark says, "I would have been there." He sounds so damn sincere that it hurts.

"Where'd this food come from?" Roger asks, starting to stand up so that he doesn't have to be so close to Mark. Before he can get too far, Mark is reaching up and grabbing hold of his wrist, tugging Roger back towards him.

"Maureen," Mark answers, grunting as he moves so that he's not taking up the entire couch. Mark pats the cushion right above his head. Roger looks between the uncomfortable, stolen café chairs back to the Mark. The real trick, he reminds himself, is to avoid temptation. "I stopped by after work and pick some up. You know she's enrolled in this cooking course? I think Joanne is making a house wife out of her."

Roger snorts. "Good luck." He picks himself up off the floor and takes the offered seat. When he sits down he closes his eyes, lowering himself as slowly and carefully as possible to make sure he doesn't touch Mark. "More likely Maureen's got her eyes on the cute instructor or something like that."

Mark gives Roger a nasty look, slightly dampened by the fact that half of his face is red and dented from sleep. "Come on, Roger. I think Maureen is really trying for Joanne."

"I was just kidding around. Calm down. No need to go into 'protect Maureen' mode. Don't you think you did enough of that when you two were dating?" It's hard to bite down the hint of jealousy in his voice. It's been over a year since Mark and Maureen broke up, and he still is such a sucker when it comes to her. What he ever saw in Maureen is a mystery to Roger. Then again, Maureen isn't exactly the only person Mark has ever befriended despite popular opinion.

Roger squirms away when Mark snuggles closer to him. Unfortunately, it's hard to go to far when he's between his best friend and the armrest. "It's probably cold by now," Mark says. "And... Well, we don't exactly have a hot plate."

Roger sniggers and Mark gives him another dirty look. "I told you they thought I was starving you. They'll be calling social services on me any day now." Roger is joking, but if one of his friends even talks about removing Mark from the apartment he will attack. Even if he's not allowed to touch Mark, he can't imagine trying to live without him again.

"What?" Mark asks. "Oh, you mean the food?" He shrugs. One of his hands is playing with the loose zipper on Roger's jacket. This shouldn't make Roger's heart pick up, but it does. "You've been having a bad week." Roger winces. Mark doesn't know what Roger's going through, of course, but he's not suppose to pick up on the fact that Roger is very nearly going through withdraw. "You've been acting weird lately," Mark points out, eyes staying on Roger.

Roger looks down at his lap, which is so much easier than meeting Mark's eyes. He pushes his friend's hand away from him. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Roger, you -" Mark sounds ready for a lecture, and Roger starts steeling himself for another one of their yelling matches. But then Mark is closing his eyes and muttering something under his breath. Roger leans in as close as he can without being obvious. He's pretty certain Mark is counting to ten. "You... You don't have to, okay," Mark says after he's calmed down. "Just..." Mark takes another deep breath. Roger realizes it must be really hard, to not be frustrated with him. "Remember that I'm here for you. Whenever you need me."

Roger's stomach knots up, and the sudden ill feeling that strikes him is probably due more to the guilt than the potatoes. He tries to smell his clothing without letting Mark onto what he's doing. Suddenly, Roger worries that Mark will be able to smell the sex on him and just know what he had done after the show. Roger is pressed so close to the armrest he can feel the wood beneath the layers of fluff. Actually, with their couch this isn't too hard to do. Still, it's the further he can get from Mark without getting off the sofa. "Very self sacrificing of you."

Mark tries to smile, but it looks too sad for Roger to believe. "It's kind of in my job description," he says. Roger raising an eyebrow. He plops the rest of the spoon of yams into his mouth. He needs something in his mouth to take his distraction off of everything else. "You know, the one where I'm your best friend," Mark explains. His grin is little more realistic this time. Mark reaches out to flick the end of the spoon dangling from Roger's lips. "Roger, I've seen you on the floor vomiting up blood and alcohol and stomach acid while you shot yourself up. Nothing you can do at this point can freak me out."

It's not the sweetest thing Mark could have said, but it's completely true. Roger winces, taking the spoon out of his mouth and grinding his teeth together to make the ticklish feeling left over from the vibrations go away. "Sorry about not telling you about the gig," he says, leaning back against the table. This hardly makes him feel any less guilty.

Mark starts to answer but ends up yawning instead. Roger smiles, patting his friend on the head. "Looks like it's past your bed time." Before Roger can move his hand away from Mark's head, the other boy has hold of his wrist. Roger freezes when Mark links their fingers together and starts moving Roger's hand through his hair. He leans back into the touch.

"I've got a headache," he explains, and Roger can only nod. When Mark drops his hand away, Roger keeps massaging his friend's temple. It can't hurt to help Mark feel better, he thinks. Probably, this doesn't even count as real touching. "Tough day at filming," Mark says. "We ended up hiking half way across the city." He reaches down to rub one of his knees. "I think I might be out of shape."

"You look fine to me." The words are out before Roger has time to think of them. He closes his eyes, hitting his head against the wall as quietly as possible, and mentally berating himself for being such an idiot.

Mark doesn't notice because he's too busy nuzzling up into Roger's hand. "You should see me when I'm not half starved living in a loft with limited power and water supplies."

There both quiet for a while, Mark with his eyes closed and Roger enjoying the feel of his fingers slipping through Mark's hair. One week without touching and all it's done is made Roger ache. Collins had said that him and Mark had been getting closer. If this is part of that closeness, these touches that are shared casually but sure as hell feel like something more, Roger isn't sure he can give them up no matter how many weeks he goes. "Mark?"

Roger presses harder into Mark's scalp and the other boy's moans, arching into the pressure. Roger's throat goes dry. He shifts around in the couch so that he can cover his less than uninterested areas. "Mmm?"

"Do you..." Roger pauses, trying to think of how to word this. It might have been easy for Collins, but Roger has no idea what to say to Mark that won't give him away. "Do you think they're anything weird about us?"

Mark tips his head back, opening one eye. "You mean like the fact that our priorities go art, beer, food, electricity, running water? Or that we hang out with people who think dancing and screaming in the middle of a crowded café is a good form of self-expression? Or that the last time that either of us held a steady job was when I was in high school?"

Mark shakes his head and closes his eyes. He wraps his arms around his chest and scoots closer to Roger. Roger, he really wishes it were his arms wrapped around Mark. That is the sort of thing you can't do, he reminds himself. But he's already on this couch with Mark draped over him and his hand tangled in Mark's hair. If this were any one else, April or Mimi, Roger would already be dragging them off to bed. "Not really."

Roger chuckles, hand still running through Mark's hair. He's tempted to press harder, just to see if he can make Mark moan again. "Not like that stuff," Roger says. "I mean... Do you think we're weird..." Roger trails off, trying to figure out how to ask Mark if he thinks it's odd that they sleep together, that they lean on each other when they walk, that they kiss each other goodbye. Doesn't Mark worry about why they do these things? "As friends?"

Mark grunts when he pushes himself up, tearing himself away from Roger so that he's on his knees and has a good grip on the couch to keep from falling forward. Roger tries to swallow down his anxiety, but he's pretty sure he has managed to give himself away. Mark is going to hate him. Mark is going to call him a pervert. Mark is going to leave.

Roger flinches when he's best friend brushes some of Roger's hair from his face. "I don't care how weird we are together," he says. Roger, his mouth goes dry when Mark says this, keeping eye contact the entire time, trying not to shake. "I... I wouldn't stop being friends with you because it can get a little crazy around here." Mark grins and Roger manages a smile back, but only because he always smiles when Mark does nowadays. "You're my best friend Roger. Nothing is going to change that."

Roger, he's almost desperate enough to make Mark swear it. If he could just make him promise that no matter what Roger did, no matter how screwed up he got, Mark wouldn't leave him. Because as far as Roger is concerned he is screwed up past the point of help. One week of no touching and he's giving hand jobs to some random guy in an alleyway. One week without touching and he gets hard just running his fingers through Mark's hair.

Mark is already lying back down, pressed so close to Roger they're nearly sharing the same space on the couch, and it feels so right. Roger knows he shouldn't. This addition, it's just like heroin and he can't let himself fall back into the habit of being so close to Mark. But the bedroom is so far away, and Mark is already curled around Roger, half asleep. It can't hurt to lay here with him, and the couch is too small for it to be Roger's fault if Mark ends up in his arms and if both boys are pressed together.

The thing is heroin isn't half as addictive as touching.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

To prove to Mark that Roger is fine, he spends most of the next week hanging out with his best friend. Roger keeps reminding himself that Mark is his friend, his best friend, his brother. Mark is his all-important confidant and occasional caretaker. Mark is everything to Roger, and he can't risk that.

More importantly, he doesn't want to risk spilling his heart to Mark only to get himself hurt.

Still, there is no rule against best friends seeing movies together or going out to lunch occasionally. If Roger pays it's because he's band is bringing in money, not because it's a date thing. If Mark starts smiling more and leaning into Roger when they walk together, it's because they're closer than brothers.

The important thing, Roger reminds himself, is not to do anything stupid. The important thing is to not get his hopes up every time Mark kisses him, and he does do that a lot. Casual and friendly kisses, and maybe Roger should stop him because every time Mark kisses him, Roger pictures him naked and sweating and in positions that are definitely not brotherly. He just can't seem to gather the courage to push Mark away.

In fact, Roger starts doing things he knows will get him a kiss, like showing up at filming. That will get him one every time.

"Roger!" Mark jumps on him the second Roger is inside the small empty warehouse they're using as a sound stage. "I didn't know you were dropping by."

The old warehouse is set up to look like an apartment, and manages to look even better than the boy's own loft. This new film Mark's making, he managed to get a backer for it after the premier of 'Today 4 U' at the local indie film festival. It didn't win anything, but someone out there took an interest.

On his tiptoes, Mark's places a quick kiss against Roger's cheek. Roger wraps his and Mark's fingers together before returning the kiss. It's all just friendly, he tells himself, but that doesn't stop his stomach from twisting in knots every time it happens. "Thought I'd take you to lunch."

Mark pulls away, holding up a finger. "Give me one minute," he says before running off to talk to some tall, lean looking guy. Roger growls when the stranger leans in as Mark talks, smiling and laughing at something the filmmaker says.

It's not jealousy, Roger tell himself, glaring when Mark's coworker puts a hand on his friend's shoulder. It's just this clean-shaven, healthy looking guy who keeps smiling at Mark, he looks like the type who would sell out in an instant. Mark is better that that. He just doesn't want to see Mark hang out with the wrong sort of people. He doesn't want Mark to get hurt when that guy ends up leaving for more publicized, mainstream things.

The thing is, Roger doesn't even believe himself. It is about jealousy. It's all about Mark.

The second Mark is within distances, Roger puts an arm around his shoulder. "Who was that?" He manages to sound pretty casual, considering that all he can think about is punching the guy out.

Mark looks behind him, waving at the man he had been talking to. Roger, he's look is a lot less friendly. "That's Jesse," Mark explains. "He's a big help on set. Oh, and a great actor." Mark leans into Roger, and Roger might tighten his grip a little more than entirely necessary. "You should meet him. You two have a lot in common."

It takes a lot for Roger not to growl. The way Jesse keeps looking at Mark, he can think of at least one thing they have in common. "How long you have?" He's leading Mark towards the street, wondering how difficult would be to talking him into never coming back. That's insane, of course. Mark says he'd do anything for Roger, but film ranks above anything in Mark's book.

Mark swings his camera bag over his shoulder. "I think we can get half an hour," he says.

Outside, the entire city is dressed for Christmas. Roger's never been too fond of the cold, but it does give him an excuse to lean even closer to Mark. With the snow and the wind and the biting cold, body heat is just the sort of thing they need to share.

Mark wraps his own arms around himself. "You're shivering," Roger points out, noticing the way Mark trembles in his arm the second they're outside. Even without his arm around Mark's shoulder he can see his friend shaking.

"It's cold," Mark says. Roger pulls him a little closer. A lady on the street gives them a strange look and he just flicks her off. Mark laughs as the woman walks by them, nose in the air.

With Mark pressed so close to Roger he can hear his friend's teeth chattering. He rubs his hand up and down Mark's arm, hoping to create some heat. "You need a new jacket," He says, pulling at the plaid fabric. He can practically feel Mark's sweater through the worn down wool of the old coat.

Mark shrugs, his own hands doing their best to keep himself warm as well. "I like this one. It's comfortable."

Roger rolls his eyes. He unzips his own jacket, slipping one arm out. Before Mark can start to protest he wraps the free martial around his friend's shoulder. It's not much, but Roger figures it might help. It has nothing to do with the fact that there is now one less layer of clothing and Mark is pressed so close Roger can feel a tingle through his entire side.

"It's my jacket from the fucking tenth grade!" Roger says, scowling when Mark tries to get away and make Roger put his own coat back on. He tightens his grip and there isn't much Mark can do but send Roger a warning look, which goes completely ignored. "It's too big for you, anyway. Not too mention it's been through hell and back."

"I like it," Mark argues. With one hand he twists his and Roger's fingers together, grabbing a fistful of Roger's coat so that he can pull both of them further around him. Now it's more than the occasional old woman giving the pair an odd look. Roger ignores them. He could care less what they think, especially with Mark walking curled up in his arm like that.

"We should burn it," Roger says. "We're running out of paper, and that thing deserves to be burned." Mark shakes his head fiercely, nearly tripping and taking Roger with him. Some how both boys manage to keep their balance. Roger just sighs, picking at one of the loose threads of the coat. "Mark, you have a jacket problem," he says, trying to sound as deep serious as he can while smiling. "You need to let go of the jacket."

"Never," Mark growls, sticking his nose in the air for a look of defiance. It's hardly frightening. Roger chuckles and pokes Mark in the side. He yelps, nearly jumping out of Roger's arm, but Roger refuses to let him go. Even laughing, Roger makes sure to keep Mark close until Mark stops trying to wiggle away and instead settles on glaring.

"That hurt," Mark complains, rubbing his side.

Roger shakes his head. "You're such a wimp." Still laughing, he steers them into a small Chinese restaurant. "Sound good?" He asks, already holding the door open and ushering Mark inside. He really doesn't want to leave his friend in the cold any longer than he has to with Mark shivering like that.

Inside, Roger has to let go off Mark so that he can slip out of his jacket. Despite the cozy heat of the restaurant, Mark doesn't take his own coat off, instead giving Roger a defiant smirk. "You're gonna burn up," Roger warns.

Mark says, "You're not going to get it."

The hostess glares at them as she takes an order over the phone. Mark holds up two fingers and she waves to give her a second. Roger leans in close to his friend, whispering, "I'll get it from you eventually."

Mark leans back, lips right against Roger's ear. "You'll have to rip it off of me." Roger shivers when Mark's hot breath brushes over his chilled skin. If Mark only knew how tempting that sounds.

Mark takes a small step away from Roger. He sniffs the air, licking at his lips. Roger has to start shifting his weight around, wondering what possessed him to wear these jeans instead of a baggier pair. "It smells good in here." Mark says, smelling the air like it's some sort of religious experience. Roger curls in hands into fist, nails digging into his palms. He did not want to kiss Mark. He did not want to kiss Mark. He is not going to kiss Mark.

"Two," The older women asks when she finally gets time for Roger and Mark. Roger nods and Mark answers, "Yes, please." The woman smiles and leads them to their seats.

Mark, he's all over the menu the second it's in his hands. He groans, one hand patting his stomach. "It all sounds so good."

Roger laughs. "Don't stuff yourself," he warns. "I don't want to be the one who has to explain that you had to go home early from filming because of a tummy ache." Actually, it doesn't sound like a horrible plan. It would keep Mark away from that Jesse creep, and Roger is use to the complaining after Mark has eaten too much. They could just curl up in bed, keeping each other warm and company for the rest of the night.

Roger shakes his head, hiding his face behind the menu in case he looks as discomfited as he feels. He needs to get these thoughts under control. He looks around the restaurant, forcing his eyes to go anywhere that isn't Mark's lips. In the booth across from them is an odd looking couple. The man is dressed in a fine suit, hair neatly trimmed and clean-shaven. The girl across from him, her hair is long enough that it disappears behind the tabletop, each chunk a different color with the occasional string or beads twisted in. She is wearing glasses that take up at least half of her face with a pink tint to them. Her clothes look like she might have made them herself while high on weed. Roger wouldn't have even guessed they were a couple if they didn't keep staring at each other and leaning in for kisses.

He snickers, which earns Mark's attention. The other boy lowers the menu, giving Roger a questioning look. "Odd couple," Roger says, nodding to the pair. "It's like watching Benny make out with that crazy old psychic on the second floor."

Mark says, "Be nice, Roger," but he's smiling. If part of Mark's job is to be there whenever Roger needs him, the other part is telling Roger to be nice.

Roger shrugs, still grinning. "Wonder what she sees in him. They don't exactly look like a match made... Well, anywhere."

"Maybe we can't see it," Mark suggestions. "Maybe it's something beyond the physical."

Roger raises an eyebrow. "Collins?"

Mark laughs and nods. "After Maureen left and I... You know." It's hard to tell if Mark is blushing since the cold wind is turning everyone's face red, but Roger is willing to bet part of Mark's color isn't due to the winter weather. After Maureen first dumped him Mark didn't exactly have the best reaction. "Collins, he said that I was more jealous than angry because Maureen, she wasn't letting herself be restricted. Gay and straight and all. They're just preferences, not iron clad ideals. Love shouldn't be limited to like... Physical forms and stuff." Mark shrugs. "I don't think I believed him at the time, but he's probably right."

Roger, he can see where Collins is coming from with that. "He tends to be, about that sort of thing. I mean, why let society tell you who to lust after and all? Life is too temporary to fence yourself into boxes for the rest of the world. It's all about emotion, feeling, that sort of thing."

"Yeah," Mark says. "Yeah. I think that, too." Mark is studying him across the booth. Roger doesn't know what he's looking for, but he hopes whatever it is Mark will like it.

He must, because when Mark looks away he is smiling, and the pink in his cheeks is definitely not winter related. "You think they'll take our order any time this century?" Mark's hands are trying to tear up the napkin while he says this, looking anywhere but Roger's face. When he does meet Roger's eyes, his grin is almost glowing.

Roger smiles back, but he can't help but feel that he's missed something.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Back stage at The Dive, Roger is trying to get his guitar in tune. On the other side of the thin walls he can hear the start up band playing up the crowd with the closing rifts. His own sound is a little less heavy and a lot more static. It doesn't take long for his drummer to point out, "You need a new amp, man."

Roger keeps going through his warm up waltz, occasionally having to stop and kick the side of his equipment. "Don't have the cash."

The other band starts piling in, letting the screams of the crowd in to the backstage. "We've played at least two gigs a week for the past month!" Tony says, grabbing a fresh beer and trying to drown it before it's their turn on stage. He scowls as some of the club's employees start hauling his drum set out. "Drop that and die."

A huge guy in black flexes his arm muscles, one of which is about twice the size of Tony's head. The message is pretty clear. "We've got it," he grunts before they disappear onto the stage.

Jarred snorts, unplugging his bass from his equipment as the club's hired hands start carrying it away. "He wastes it all on that hot blond of his." Jarred says this with a wicked sneer, which Tony seems to find hilarious.

Roger gives his amp one more good kick before it's gone. "You guys don't know what you're talking about," he says. Jarred and Tony aren't listening. They're both swallowing down the last of their drinks, Tony threatening that big guy again. The man in black is starting to look very close to knocking out the drunken musician. "I never went out with that chick."

Mathias pats Roger on the shoulder. "I think they're talking about your friend, Mark."

Roger can feel his cheeks heating up. "Oh..."

The manager pops into the back, glaring and Tony as he throws his empty beer bottle at the trashcan and misses. In his suit and tie, banging his cell phone against his palm, he looked like a bad mafia impersonator. "You boys gonna get your ass on the stage anytime soon?" He asks. "People don't like waiting."

Tony hops down of the bar he'd planted himself on and picks up his drumsticks. He plays a few air beats and mutters something that only Jarred can hear. When the manager turns around to talk on his cell, Jarred flicks him off. Both boys start laughing again, nearly tripping two of the stage employees, who get an earful from Tony.

In all this commotion, Roger still finds time to be embarrassed. "It's not like that," he explains to Mathias. "I'm just his friend."

Mathias clearly doesn't believe him. "Look, man, I don't care who you're with, right? Me and the guys, we don't need to know about your private life. So long as your showing up for practice again 'stead of shutting yourself up and acting all-"

Roger raises a hand to cut Mathias off. "You guys really think I'm..."

"Hey fags, you coming?" Jarred yells, motioning Mathias and Roger onto the stage. When he walks out there is a round of cheers as the crowd works themselves up for the next act.

"Ignore them," Mathias tells him as Roger starts to growl and stalk after his fellow band mate. "They're assholes. And I think Jarred is sort of jealous."

"I swear it's not like that," Roger shakes his head, trying to get through to Mathias before they go on stage. For some reason, it's really important that his friend believe him. If Roger can't lie to himself, there should at least be someone fooled into think Roger doesn't want Mark. "Mark he... He isn't into me like that."

"I really don't care who the fuck is in who," Mathias says. "When have I ever cared who you're fucking, Roger? Doesn't matter if your just screwing around with him-"

"I wouldn't-" Roger starts to protest, because Mathias is hitting a little to close to what Roger is afraid of.

"-or if you're trying to get in his pants and haven't got the balls to do it yet. Hell, Roger, for all I care you can go out and fuck a goat. Just as long as you keep singing like you have been." Mathias shrugs. "That's really all that matters to me."

"It's not like that!" Roger yells, but Mathias is walking out on stage and Roger's words are overpowered by the fierce energy coming from the crowd. Roger isn't left with much choice but to shake his head and follow along.

On the stage the band is tuning up. A group of girls, most of them tweaked out of their minds, are standing at the foot of the stage reaching up, screaming Roger's name. It's more intoxicating than alcohol, though not quite up there with smack or touching.

It doesn't take long for Roger eyes to land on Mark. He's standing towards the back, hands stuffed into his pockets and trying to get out of the way of some of the dancing, drunk couples that keep bumping into him. When he sees Roger his face brightens and he jumps to his tiptoes, waving over the heads of the crowd. He looks like a seventeen year old boy fresh from Scarsdale among the backdrop of club wear, pumping fists, and grinding bodies.

Roger knows he looks goofy, but he waves back.

Covering his mic, Jarred leans over to tell something to Mathias. He has to scream to be heard over the crowd. "He's flirting with that damned boyfriend of him again."

Roger plays the first few bars of Musetta's Waltz and the audience goes crazy. More to the point he's telling Jarred to shut the fuck up and get ready to play.

Mathias says something back, and Roger only catches the last part. "-good tonight."

Roger's lips almost touch the spit covered head of the microphone when he leans in. "We've got a fucking hot audience," He growls, his voice husky and hoarse. By the end of the night it will be stuck like that. He does it anyway, because the crowd loves him for it. The girls in front, they practically jump on stage, waving their arms and screaming incoherent lines at him. "Gonna make you scream."

His eyes never leave Mark.


	10. Day Break

**Author's Note: **I've been pondering writing another Rent fanfiction, more of a prequel and Mark-centric (though still Roger/Mark). I was just wondering if anyone had an opinion of the chapter lengths. I know that they're a bit longer than the "norm" chapters on fanfiction (but by no means up there with the ten page long chapters of some people. How you could ever write that much in one chapter? I would kill for that). Do you guys see that as a negative? Would you enjoy smaller chapters more or are they fine how they are? Also, I know I do a lot of inner thoughts and what not. Would it be more readable if I had more dialogue/description and less "Mark thinks... Mark feels..." or have I managed to hit a fair balance? If you could answer either one, I thank you a million times over.

**Touch and Tell Lullaby****  
Chapter X: Day Break**

"Maaaark. Maaaark. You need to wake up." Mark moans, swatting at Roger's hand when the other boy tries to shake him awake. Roger scooting away from Mark's light smacks, shifting around until he's sure the box behind his back is completely hidden. He gives his friend a few more seconds of sleep before nudging him with his heel. "Mark!"

Mark mutters something under his breath, struggling to sit up in bed without loosing any of the covers. He tries glaring at Roger, but without his glasses it just looks like squinting. Any illusion of fierceness is lost when Mark yawns and rubs some of the sleep from his eyes. "What?"

"Surprise," Roger answers with a light, awake tone he knows will annoy the still out of it Mark to no end. Mark stops scrubbing his face to look up at Roger with interest. All he gets is a coy, self-satisfied smile. "But you have to wake up."

Mark groans and flops back down, pulling the covers up over his head. "I'm tired," he whines, snuggling against the pillow. "Need sleep."

Roger might have been more sympathetic if he weren't so excited. Ignoring Mark's determination to go back to sleep, Roger asks, "Don't you know what today is?"

"Cold," Mark complains. He pulls the blanket down and pats the free mattress space beside him. "You're suppose to be keeping me warm, not keeping me awake."

"That's cheating," Roger says, because who wouldn't want slide under the covers and curl up next to Mark? Roger's eyes go between Mark and the bed. Behind him, his hands fiddle with the package, making sure it's still out of sight. It's a tempting offer, and it takes Roger a second to remember why he's not already in bed with Mark.

Mark throws some of the blankets back for Roger. "Stop playing around. I'm freezing."

Roger can't help but smile. "Then I'll have to warm you up." It's hard to mix how Mark's eyes dart to his boxers. Suddenly, Mark looks much more awake and much more red. Before he can say anything, Roger shoves the box into his hands. "Merry Christmas," he says, maybe a little too quickly, and Mark isn't the only one blushing.

"Yeah..." Mark squints down at the box in his hands before reaching over and grabbing his glasses from the nightstand. "What is it?" he asks, picking up the cardboard box and shaking it. He wrinkles up his nose and holds it a few inches away from him. "And why does it smell like beer and fish? Did you get this off the street."

"Only the box." Roger is rather proud that he'd remember to wrap it at all. If putting a gift in an old cardboard box could be considered wrapping. "Besides, it's a Christmas present. You're not suppose to ask questions. You're just suppose to open it." Roger pushes the box closer to Mark's chest, urging him to open it. "Go on."

Mark shakes the box a few more times before the idea really sinks in. When he grins, he looks just like a kid around the Christmas tree. "You got me a gift?"

"Open it!" Roger can't seem to keep himself from fidgeting. He'd forgotten how exciting it is to give a gift. The last thing he'd bought for anyone had been getting April some smack.

Mark laughs, tearing up the top of the box as fast as he can and empty the box onto his lap. A dark blue, green, and white jacket falls into his lap. Mark raises an eyebrow, picking the jacket up and turning it around. "It's a jacket."

"I told you it would keep you warm," Roger says. He's glad Mark has the coat held up between them, because his mind instantly goes to other ways he could keep Mark warm, and his cheeks heat up.

Mark grabs the tag, eyes going wide when he sees the price. "It's new," he says, voice a little higher than usual.

Roger winces. "Yeah." Maybe the jacket cost more than half the rest of the boy's wardrobes, but Roger saw it and it just looked so Mark. Besides, he didn't really need that new amp right this minute. Mark doesn't look impressed. He keeps turning the jacket over like he's looking for something wrong with it. Roger knows exactly what's wrong. Friends don't normally spend their entire paycheck on one piece of clothing for each other. Especially not friends that can hardly pay the rent. "It's not really a gift," Roger says before Mark can think over it for too long, "so much as a trade in. So I can get my coat back."

Mark pouts, putting the new jacket down in his lap. "But I like that coat."

Roger rolls his eyes, feeling a bit annoyed that Mark had to be so damn difficult. Why couldn't he just tell Roger to fuck off, that he didn't want the present, that he loved the thought and the jacket and Roger? Not only that, but he is ruining Roger's one good excuse for why he felt the need to go and get Mark a gift. "My mom bought that at Good Will years ago," Roger complains. "It probably smells."

Mark's cheeks turn red. He starts fiddling with the jacket's zipper. "I guess."

Roger sighs, reaching forward to take the coat away from Mark. He can still get his money back, maybe put it towards repairing his amp, something he should have done in the first place. What made him think it would be such a good idea, buying something for Mark? "If you don't like it-"

Mark jerks the jacket away from Roger, hugging it to his chest. "I do!" he says, pulling back when Roger reaches for it again. "Come on, Roger!" Mark puts on his best pout, the one that makes him look like a dorky ten year old. It doesn't make Roger feel any less embarrassed, but he can't help but grin and roll his eyes at the begging look.

Biting down on his lower lip to keep from smiling too much, Roger grabs on to the jacket and pulls hard enough to yank Mark out from under the covers. "You said you didn't want it," he says in an almost mocking tone.

Mark crawls to his knees, keeping his hold on the jacket's collar. "I do now!"

Roger gives a hard enough tug that Mark ends up at the foot of the bed, and the jacket is entirely Roger's. He holds the coat back behind him, smirking when Mark glares up at him. "Prove it."

"How do you prove you need a jacket?" Mark says, using Roger's knees to push himself up. "I'm already freezing my ass off. Isn't that enough?"

With Mark's hands on his legs and their bodies almost touching, Roger knows Mark isn't freezing. It feels to Roger like he's radiating heat. They really are too close and not close enough, Roger thinks, and Mark looks so good when he's pouting and rumbled from sleep.

Before Roger can say any else back Mark leans forward, causing Roger's heart to jump. This is why he went and blew half of his cash on some stupid, over priced jacket. Roger feels dizzy when Mark presses their lips together. He drops the coat, fingers curling into the sheets to stop himself from grabbing Mark and tugging him forward.

They stay in that awkward limbo of a kiss, barely touching but not far enough back to feel casual. It's just another one of their friendly kisses, Roger reminds himself. But it doesn't feel that way when Mark's hand crawls up his leg. Roger only barely holds back a moan before Mark grabs the jacket, pulling it away from Roger. It's just a game, he tells himself, don't make an ass out of yourself, Davis.

Mark murmurs, "Thank you," and Roger can feel his friend's hot breath against his mouth. A hand rests on his shoulder, calluses fingertips ghosting over Roger's suddenly burning skin. Roger isn't sure if he can move right then, so it's all up to Mark. He leans in a little more, tilting his head so that their lips mold together.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Roger jumps back from Mark so quickly he winds up on the floor in a pile of magazines. "Fucking hell!" He arches off the ground, rubbing the sore spot on his backside. He definitely heard something crack.

Mark is pressed against the wall, flushed and breathing hard enough that Roger can hear him over another set of knocks. He's staring at the door like a teen caught making out by his parents. After catching his breath he says, "That's probably Collins with some holiday wine."

Still wincing in pain, Roger mutters, "yeah," groaning as he picks himself up off the floor.

The second Roger is leaning over the bed Mark is jumping away. "I'll get it." He slips a sweater on inside out and backwards in his rush to answer the front door, or possibly just to get out of the bedroom as quickly as possible.

"I'll be out in a second. Just let me put something on." Not that Collins hadn't seen Roger in his boxers a million times before, but suddenly it didn't seem like such a good idea to be caught like that. His heart is still racing, and he's pretty sure the second Collins sees him he is going to know what Roger had been doing.

Not that Roger had done anything wrong. He hadn't been the one who had started the kiss, although he might have done something that maybe he knew Mark would probably kiss him for. Still, he had definitely not been the one who kept kissing. That had been all Mark. It is Mark that had been trying to kiss Roger.

It takes Roger a moment to register that thought. Mark had been trying to kiss him.

The knocking is finally cut off. "Hey Col-Oh."

"Hey yourself."

That voice.

Roger's thoughts scatter as he makes a mad dash for the door. Ignoring the fact that he's half naked, breathing hard, beyond confused, and has a pain up his right side, Roger runs out of the bedroom, nearly crashing into the table before he can slow down.

"Mimi."

Mimi's just as thin as Roger remembers her. The dark circles under her eyes haven't receded, and her face is still gaunt and too close to death. The smile, though, that's new. It's not her "take me out" look that Roger fell in love with. It's a little more down to Earth and a lot more heart breaking.

"Roger," she says, and Roger starts breathing again. He tries to say something, but all he can do is keep staring at her. After a few seconds, she starts to look rather amused. "You just gonna stare all day?"

She's got a healthy glow to her skin. When she smiles this time, there's something there that Roger can't remember ever seeing. Somehow, Roger manages to get his voice back enough to say, "You... You look good."

Mimi chuckles, glancing away for a half a second before she can meet Roger's eyes. Her eyes. Mimi has indescribably beautiful eyes. "You too."

"Thanks." Roger isn't sure what else he can say. Most of his mind has stopped working, unable to process much other than the fact that Mimi is standing here, back in the loft after half a year. He doesn't even notice Mark until the other boy is walking in front of him.

"I really need to get somewhere," Mark mutters, hurrying past Roger to the bedroom. He comes back out with his camera and new jacket. "I have some filming I need to get done."

Mimi laughs, patting Mark on the arm as he tries to zip up his jacket. "You never stop working, do you Mark?"

Mark looks right at Roger. "Sometimes it's easier that way."

If he means anything by this, Mimi doesn't seem to pick up on it and Roger's too busy staring at her to think about it. "Well, good luck," Mimi says, standing aside to let Mark out. Mark gives her a quick smile and nod, still trying to get the jacket on. His hands are shaking too hard to click the zipper in place. "Cute jacket," Mimi adds, running a hand down the thick white strip across the right side. "Is it new?"

"Christmas gift," Mark explains, jerking when Mimi touches him. "Complicated zipper."

"Here." Roger grabs Mark by the arm, swinging him around. He ignored Mark yelp and small struggle, pushing the other boy's hands away so that he can zip the jacket up. "There we go." He holds Mark back to get a good look at him. The jacket looks a thousand times better than the ratty disaster Mark had been wearing for so long. It doesn't hurt that the jacket fits his form a little more.

Mark fidgets uncomfortable with Roger studying him. He shakes off Roger's hands, taking a step towards the door. "I have to go."

Roger reaches forward, taking Mark by the shoulder again. "See you later." He kisses Mark on the forehead before letting him go.

For a split second the two lock eyes. Mark is staring into Roger, looking for something. Roger, he hopes that Mark can find it in him.

Mark looks away in a hurry. "Later." The door shuts, leaving Mimi and Roger alone in the apartment.

Roger smiles, running a hand through his messy hair. "He works too much." It's the only thing Roger can think to say. In his mind he can still see Mark's eyes burning into him, and he can't help but feel like's he's failed something.

Mimi isn't smiling any more. She isn't even looking at Roger. "I should go." She stuffs her hands in her pockets and turns to leave. Before she can get another step, Roger is in front of the door, hands on Mimi's shoulders to keep her from walking out.

"No!" He winces when he realizes how pathetically desperate he sounds. Closing his eyes and taking a few calming breaths, Roger tries again. "I mean, please don't go."

Mimi shrugs his hands off her shoulders. She hugs herself, protecting herself from Roger. "Look, I get it. I mean, you in your boxers and Mark looking like he did. I'm not an idiot, Roger. I just... I didn't expect." Mimi sighs, one hand massaging her temple as she backs away from Roger. "I need some fresh air."

"Mimi, wait!" She's already pushing past Roger, hurrying out the door. Before she can make it to the stairs, Roger grabs her wrist just hard enough to stop her. Mimi growls, but Roger isn't about to just let her walk back into his life and then leave without a word. He has enough stress thanks to this thing with Mark, Mark who is giving Roger weird looks and trying to kiss him. He doesn't need Mimi to mess with him like this.

Before he can try and calm himself down, Roger's temper is already boiling over. "So that's it? You're just stopping by to leave me again? Just coming over to fuck with my head before your next high?"

"Fuck you, Roger!" Mimi shoves hard enough that Roger ends up landing against the stair railing. Throwing her hands into the air, she mutters something in Spanish before storming down the stairs. "You know, I don't even know why I'm here! Like I expected you to..."

Watching Mimi run down the stairs, Roger has to force himself to not go after her. "Wait!" Mimi doesn't even slow down. Leaning over the railing Roger shouts, "Mimi... I..." Roger doesn't know why they get like this every time they're together, but he can't let it end like this. He doesn't want to risk this being the last time and his last memory of her being some yelling match in the hallway. He doesn't want to hurt Mimi. Not really.

Roger closes his eyes, listening to the silence of the hallway. The silence of Mimi not running away from him again. "I'm... I'm sorry."

Mimi shakes her head. "Don't be." She doesn't head back up, she doesn't even look up at Roger, but at least she's staying.

Roger's fingers curl around the railing until they're completely white. "I just... I don't know why we have to be like this."

Slow enough to be a scene from one of Mark's movies, Mimi turns around and starts up the stairs. "I do." Standing a breath away from Roger, Mimi looks so beautiful. Even under the bad fluorescent lighting she manages to shine.

Carefully, as if expecting Roger to jerk back, Mimi reaches forward to touch Roger. "What we had," Mimi says, staring at her hand over Roger's heart, "it was... passion. It was all fire and life and explosions." Mimi is wearing a heartbreaking smile. A year ago Roger could have kissed that look away. Now he can't even meet her eyes. "It was the most exciting things I've ever felt. But I guess that sort of thing... I guess it can't last forever."

Without even thinking about it, Roger starts to answer, "Nothing last-"

"I know." Mimi's hand moves to Roger's face, cupping his cheek. "Maybe, though, there are some things so close to forever that you can hardly tell the difference." The way she says it, Roger's not sure if it's a statement of a question. Everything is temporary, this he knows. What Mimi's talking about is something that is there with you no matter what. Something so permanent in the fleeting minutes of your life that it seems everlasting. Roger, he can only think of one person, and it isn't this beautiful, energetic girl he fell in love with.

With her hand running down Roger's face, he asks, "Why'd you come back?" Before her hand disappears, Roger reaches up to stop her. Hot skin against hot skin, and all Roger can feel is one sliver of coolness against his fingers.

Roger is shaking when they untangle their hands. Mimi slips away from Roger enough that she can show him the ruby-and-gold band. "I'm getting married." Roger's too shocked to form whole thoughts. He closes his eyes as if trying to get rid of some sort of illusion. "His name is Jordan," Mimi explains. "I meant him in my rehab group. He's one of the counselors."

"How... How long?" All he can do is nod at the ring so that Mimi knows what he's referring to without him having to say it out loud.

"Three months," she answers. Seeing the look of bewilderment on Roger's face she adds, "No day but today, huh?"

"No," Roger mutters, talking a step back so that he can lean against the stair railings. He grabs hold of the bar, unable to trust his balance at the moment. It feels like something in his chest is being crushed. "No, I guess there isn't."

Mimi sighs and drops her hands, fiddling with the ring. "I just..." Both her and Roger are staring at the floor covered in gum and stains. It's easier then explaining these things face to face. "I wanted to make sure you're doing okay. I guess... I don't know why I thought you needed me to check up on you." Mimi shrugs and offers an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry for earlier. I was just... shocked."

Roger's head is still spinning. "What?" He's not sure what it is he's asking. What is Mimi so shocked about? What is she doing here? What happened to them? What is it about Roger that made him so damn impossible to love?

Mimi puts her hand away in her pocket. "Did you love me?" Roger might have fallen over if he hadn't been holding onto the railing. He jumps back, staring at Mimi with wide eyes. He can't seem to get his brain working fast enough to come up with an answer. Taking a deep breath, Mimi repeats, "Did you love me?"

"Of course." Roger loved the way Mimi had been so determined to take him out. He loved the way she refused to let all his pushing and anger stop her from getting what she wanted. He loved the way she never quit living just because everything in the world told her she is going to die.

Mimi crosses her arms, keeping herself safe. She looks so unsure, more uncertain than Roger can ever remember seeing her. "Do you... Do you still..."

"Always."

Cautiously, as if still afraid for herself, Mimi looks up to meet Roger's eyes. They're a hint of a smile playing at her lips. She starts to lean forwards, eyelids fluttering closed.

Before she can reach him, Roger puts his hands on her shoulders. He's sure to be gentle, but when Mimi opens her eyes she looks hurts. Softly pushing her back, Roger tries to explain. "It's just..." Roger isn't even sure what it is, why he can't let himself kiss Mimi. He has a few ideas, but they don't seem like the sort of thing he can share with her. "You meant so much to me Mimi. I don't..."

Roger bites his lips, trying to think of all the things he can say to make Mimi stops looking at him like that, so brokenhearted that it's all Roger can do not to take him in her arms and promise her the world. Something stops him, makes him keep her at arms length. Something that feels so close to forever. In the end, all he can do is stare at the ground, dropping his hands away from Mimi and taking a few steps back towards his door. "Be happy."

"You, too, Roger." Mimi's voice sounds like it's filled with tears. She takes a few steps back, managing a weak smile when Roger finally gets the stomach to look at her. "And merry Christmas."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Roger's asleep before Mark comes back home.

After Mimi left, Roger couldn't feel anything. There is no other way to describe watching Mimi walk away. Roger knows it's his fault, from the ring on her finger to the final goodbye without even trying to fix what they'd lost. It had been Roger, after all, who had pushed her away in the first place with his arguments and stubborn possessiveness. It had been Roger who couldn't bring himself to kiss Mimi one last time.

Mimi, she had wanted him to kiss her. She had wanted to see if the sparks were still between them. All Roger had to do was look into her eyes and he could tell that they would always be there. Part of him would always love Mimi. Maybe if he could have brought himself to kiss her, all that passion that had been between them would have blown up. Maybe Mimi would still be here. Maybe Roger could have stopped her from going back to her new life where she's clean and engaged and loved.

Roger knew he couldn't kiss her, because it doesn't matter who he's with when he's eyes are closed he's always kissing the same person. Mimi, she deserves so much more than what Roger could give her.

Too exhausted to do anything else, Roger had fallen into bed. The part of him that loves Mimi is breaking down, and the rest of him can't help but think about Mark and every thing Roger's done wrong when it comes to his friend. He's thankful when he manages to fall asleep, to get away from all the emotions that feel like they're destroying him.

He wakes up it's to a string of curses. Squinting through the dark of his bedroom, Roger can only barely make out the figure of someone hunched over. After the mumbling stops it starts riffling through the closet. Roger tries to sit up only to find the apartment too cold to leave the blankets. "Mark?"

"Sorry," Mark mutters, closing the closet door as quietly as possible. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was," Roger says, interrupting himself with a yawn. "What are you doing?"

There's movement in the dark. It looks like Mark waving something. "Just grabbing some clothes."

Before Mark can leave Roger asks, "Where are you going?" He's already struggling to get out from under the covers. Mark leaving so late at night with a new change of clothes doesn't bode well with Roger. He needs to be under the covers, tucked around Roger, helping Roger fix himself.

Instead he's heading towards the door. "To my room," Mark answers, still talking in whispers even though Roger is already awake.

"Why?" Roger asks. He stops trying so desperately to untangle himself from the bed. He already hurts enough with Mark leaving him, but he's not sure he can handle anything like another fight and if Mark is going to spend the night with someone else, Roger knows there will be a fight.

Even with the room only lit by the a sliver of moonlight pouring in from the living room, Roger can still make out how Mark has begun to fidget. "I... Well... I thought you might like some private time with Mimi."

Roger isn't sure wither to wince or laugh. "Mimi's not here." He draws back the covers, patting the mattress next to him. "Come on. You're going to freeze tonight if you try sleeping in your own room."

Roger's heart stops while Mark hesitates, afraid Mark is going to tell him he has to go, he has someone waiting for him. Then the dark figure takes a step away from the door. "I guess the last thing we need is either one of us catching a cold," Mark says as he starts pulling off his clothes. Even as confused and hurt as Roger is, he's still disappointed that it's too dark to see anything.

Mark slips under the covers, immediately cuddling up to Roger who jumps away on instinct. "God you're freezing!" Roger says, grabbing Mark and nearly hauling the other boy on top of him. He wraps his arms around Mark, pushing them together until he can feel his body heat start to melt the frost over Mark's skin.

"Well, it is December in New York," Mark points out. He twists and turns in Roger's arm, trying to give himself some breathing room. Roger refuses to give him an inch. After a while of struggling, Mark sighs. "Roger, I think you can let go of me now."

Roger doesn't listen. It's been a while since Mark has fought against him, but it's for his own good. "First you spend all day outside in the winter, then you try and sleep in your own room. Are you trying to get the flu, Mark?"

Mark sighs and gives in, letting himself relax against Roger. "I just thought you and Mimi might want some time alone to... You know. Talk or whatever."

The mention of Mimi sends a shiver down Roger's spine. "She's getting married." He says it before he has time to think about it. In the dark he lets himself cringe, berating himself for being such an idiot. Mark deals with enough without Roger just shoving all his problems onto him.

In his arms, Mark goes completely still. "Mimi's getting married?"

Roger nods. "To some counselor guy. She showed me the ring." Roger's pretty sure he can still feel the cold gold between his fingers.

Mark shifts in Roger's arms until they're nearly face-to-face. It's too dark to make out much, but Roger can feel Mark's warm breath against his cheek. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know." Roger shakes his head and tries rewording. "I mean, I'm fine. I just... I'm not sure." If Roger still doesn't know why it hurts so much, watching Mimi walk away when he practically told her to, then how can he explain to Mark what made him do it? How is he going to tell Mark that it's his fault he couldn't kiss Mimi?

"Strange that she's getting married," Mark whispers, almost like he shouldn't be talking about this with Roger. "It doesn't seem like that long ago."

"It's long enough to fall in love, I think." Roger knows exactly how easy it is to fall in love with someone. Those heartbreaking smiles, that look he'd never seen before. Mimi is afraid she might have fallen into a love that might last. Roger knows that feeling. "No day like today."

With Mark's head resting inches from his own, it's hard not to want to touch. He lets go of Mark, running on hand through the other boy's hair. Mark leans back into Roger's touch, muttering something that might be "Yeah."

After April died, Roger decided he didn't deserve life. All those things he had done to seize the day, the drugs and the sex and the fun, he thought his girlfriend's death and his diseases were meant to punish him for that. Angel had never seen it that way. Mimi, she never punished herself the way Roger did. "What am I so afraid of?"

"I don't know," Mark answers, not sounding entirely awake. Roger's gentle petting is rocking him to sleep. "What?"

Roger looks down at Mark, flatting some of the hair he'd ruffled. His hand slips down Mark's face, cupping his cheek. "She asked me to kiss her," Roger says. Mark probably didn't need these details, but Roger wanted to share them. He wanted Mark to know what he'd given up. And maybe by tomorrow he'd realize what a stupid idea this all is, but right now is not about tomorrow.

He can feel Mark's brow furrow in confusion. "Like goodbye?"

"Like to see," Roger explains. "She wanted to know if I still loved her."

There's a silence where Mark doesn't seem to be able to talk. He clears his throat before asking, "Do you?"

He does, but that isn't for Mark to know. "I couldn't kiss her," Roger answers. He shakes his head, not dropping his hand away from Mark's face. "She wanted me to so badly, Mark, and I just couldn't."

"Oh..." Roger wishes it were light enough that he could make out Mark's expression. Maybe it's better that it's dark. Maybe it's better if Roger just plunges into this, just takes this one chance before he dies. "Why not?"

This is not a causal kiss. Roger holds his breath when he leans in, lips finding Mark's easy in the dark. Mark jumps under the unexpected contact, but Roger doesn't let him go far. He has this one chance, and he can't just give up. Pressed against Mark, Roger makes sure this can't be mistaken as just another friendly kiss. This is about Roger living. This is about today.

Some how, it works. There's a low, hoarse moan and Mark opens his mouth to let Roger slip inside. Hands grab at shoulders and hair, pulling bodies closer until Mark is actually in Roger's lap. With Mark straddling his hips dressed only in boxers, there are about a million things to do, but all Roger can think about is this kiss. Hot and open and how close he could get to Mark before they died from lack of air. Roger is more than willing to stay like this until then.

Mark is the one who pulls back; slow enough that Roger can still lick and nip at his lips before letting him go. Both boys are breathing hard, and suddenly the winter chill is nothing compared to the fire under Roger's skin. Mark is beautiful and flushed and holding onto Roger's shoulders so tight that it hurts. "Mark?" He runs his hand down Mark's face, squinting through the dark to watch the other boy's eyes flutter open.

Mark kisses the palm of Roger's hand as it passes over his lips. He doesn't look upset and he doesn't look ready to leave. "Yeah?" His voice cracks over the word, and Roger knows without seeing that Mark is blushing. Maybe this is reckless, and maybe one of them will leave, and maybe Roger will regret that for the rest of his life, but he's not going to regret tonight.

"I have something I should tell you..."

**La Finition**


End file.
